Red Sky
by Cyren
Summary: Will, Elizabeth, and the crew of the BLACK PEARL agreed to sail to the World's End to rescue Jack Sparrow, but what if it meant sailing to the underworld its self to pull him out? And what if it put the underworld its self in grave danger?
1. An End to Reason

RED SKY

"Look at you now, Sparrow, a truly pathetic thing."

My how terrible things turned out in the end, always. At least for Captain Jack Sparrow. All of his plans would go so wonderfully smoothly until some little snag always sent things crashing to the ground. Bound and beaten, lying on the deck of the East Indian Company's current flagship, _Herald Mark_, seemed to be just such a snag. Surrounded by Beckett's loyal lackeys only served to worsen the situation. His left arm, hanging limp with its still fresh and raw looking stab wound, with its occasional flashes of blinding, white hold agony, wasn't helping much either.

Lord Cutler Beckett seemed to appreciate that fact oh so much, with such devilish glee dripping from his voice, it almost made Jack sick, to boot. Beckett teased him so, turning to his crew. "What should we do with our little sparrow, men?"

There came a laugh. "Set him free."

"Ah, but with a broken wing?" Beckett asked of his crew, sending a dark chill through Jack.

"Only fair to balance 'im out!"

Beckett's husky voice crooned in Jack's ear. "Only fair..."

Jack Sparrow closed his eyes, readying for the abuse as best he could. He was a pirate captain; he would never be seen begging for his life, for mercy, least of all at the hands of an East Indian Company stooge.

There were hands upon him, but Jack was too weak to fight. The pirate just clenched his teeth tight, refusing to allow even a whimper out. Someone jerked his right arm, his still good arm, twisting it back with unearthly strength, it seemed. There was a moment, when Jack thought he was in the clear and drew in a soft breath, as the muscles just strained in protest. And, then, there was the crack. That horrific snap of bone. A jolt of pain rocked through Jack.

"Good-bye, Sparrow."


	2. El Cazador

RED SKY

Dead, dead, dead.

He was dead.

Jack had known it the moment that horrid beast lunged upon him. He knew it the moment that blast of heat and steam from off the creature's breath hit him that this was the end.

Still, as he drew his cutlass, Jack knew he would go down fighting...

... if only to kill her.

And, so, he not only was eaten by the kraken, but Jack leapt into the gaping maw of the miserable creature. The pirate swung his cutlass with fierce anger and rage, screaming her name until his throat felt hoarse and raw.

But the kraken was too strong.

xxxx

"No..."

Even still, William Turner knew it had happened. He knew those terrible tentacles, reaching up the hull of the _Black Pearl _sought the one and only Captain Jack Sparrow. The kraken would not rest until it had brought that man low.

And, yet, it hurt less to think of Jack dying that it did to think of him kissing Elizabeth.

"Jack..."

But, in a moment of absolute destruction, the _Black Pearl _had been pulled down, dragged by the vicious monster, down into the dark depths.

It was over in a heartbeat.

xxxx

Gone, gone, gone.

All hope was gone. At least, to Elizabeth Swann, all hope was gone. Jack Sparrow had been sucked up by the kraken, and it was all her fault. The fair damsel in distress led him to his death, shackling her supposed friend to the mast of the _Black Pearl_ for that hideous sea beast. She left him to be bait for it and to die a most horrible death. And, to make it worse, she had kissed him.

Elizabeth watched with a sort of tired weariness as Tia Dalma just waved at the skeleton crew as they pulled away. The fortune teller stood waist deep in water, her skirts billowing up about her. The woman had an eerie way about her as she settled those dark, haunting eyes right upon Elizabeth. As close as they still were to the swamps, Tia Dalma had come far out with her little candle, her eyes locking upon Elizabeth from even there. The budding-pirate furrowed her eyebrows as she thought, just maybe, she saw a grin forming on Tia Dalma's face. Elizabeth felt almost grateful to see Hispaniola slipping away from them, but that look left her with dread fear.

They had an accord with Barbossa, one that frightened Elizabeth dearly. The pirate captain would help them get Jack back, but they would have to serve as his crew.

_El Cazador _slipped through the cypress trees and into open water, like a ghost ship, heading out to sea. Her crew was barely visible, even for such a small ship. Just a little sloop, but a fast vessel at that. Not nearly as fast as the _Pearl_, but that ship lay at the bottom of the sea, brought low by the kraken. And the sails of this ship, as opposed to the _Pearl_'s ebony clothes, were stained a deep, bloody crimson color. A warning, to all who would dare draw near.

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought.

The colors they ran were but of two colors. Scarlet and ebony. Blood and darkness. The colors fluttered in the wind, held aloft by a warm, Caribbean breeze. A black skull and crossbones, the colors of a pirate, with the strangest of hearts for one of the eyes with claws coming from out of it, set upon that red cloth. Tia Dalma herself had presented Barbossa with those colors, telling him to run them at all costs, to announce that she had sent the skeleton crew.

"It be a warning that ye's be in me good graces," the strange oracle had cautioned them sternly.

Will, much to Elizabeth's horror, took the colors with honor, raising them himself. More and more, he was becoming a pirate, a dangerous felon and criminal of the law. Turner took after his father by the day. But it wasn't his change in persona that frightened Elizabeth so. It was the thoughts of what awaited her if they ever did find Jack Sparrow again.

Even then, staring out as the island of Hispaniola as it slipped away, Elizabeth could only picture the look on Jack's eyes as she stepped away from him, leaving him shackled to the doomed ship. To his ship. Somehow, the pirate looked as though he understood, despite the overwhelming shock of the situation, the anger at her betrayal. Somehow...

"Miss Swann, you look near warmed over to death."

The woman jumped at her name spoken by that voice. Barbossa. That villain, the pirate scoundrel. Elizabeth wheeled around, only to find him standing right behind her, too close for any comfort. She jumped back, against the railing.

"Barbo-"

"_Captain _Barbossa," he corrected her with a sneer, taking his hat from off his head and draping it across his chest. "Now, as I was saying, Miss Swann, y'look near warmed over to death. Why do ye not rest a spell in the captain's quarters, regain yer composure."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I shall do no such thing."

Barbossa grinned a strange sneer. "It was merely a gentlemanly offer." He glanced to the crew, all men, below. "The men might be inclined to take certain liberties with ye livin' in the common quarters."

"I should rather stay with them than with the likes of you," she snarled.

Barbossa just laughed. "Ye still don't trust me, do you, Miss Swann?" She sniffed in indignation. "I can understand where ye're coming from, Miss. Truly, I can." He leaned against the rail with her, staring back at Tia Dalma and her coterie. "However, my quarrel isn't with ye and yer kin. It's with Jack and that Lord Cutler Beckett, not ye."

"Oh, really?"

Barbossa drew in a heavy breath, stroking the smoothly worn grain of the wooden deck railing. "Y'know why she is called _El Cazador_?" Elizabeth shook her head. "It's Spanish, for the_ Hunter. _She is the_ Hunter. _Because she'll hunt down my quarry until they are as dead as dead can be."

"How reassuring," she quipped.

"No one else. Just Beckett and Jack. We've a score to settle, Jack and I." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I cannot explain it. Just call it an accord."

The woman shook her head. "So, where do we head first, oh illustrious captain?"

"Tortuga."

xxxx


	3. Skeleton Cay

RED SKY

The heart puzzled him.

Miles Sweaton, in all his years as a physician, had never seen anything like it at all. In medical school, in gross anatomy, he had once seen an amputated limb twitch and fingers curl as though the then severed arm still had life left in it. However, after a few moments, even that ceased. It was nothing like the heart that sat in the glass case on Lord Cutler Beckett's desk in the East India Company's Caribbean office. He was still thinking about it when he went to stay in his host home that night.

The next night, as the _Westing Angel_ carried Miles Sweaton back to his true home, he was still thinking about it. Even as the terrible beast with the shark like face came at him with blade and pistol drawn, Miles Sweaton couldn't help but think of the heart in the glass case, locked tight. Something about the image struck him as he heard the echoing thudding of his own heart in terror.

Miles Sweaton would spend the last few moments of his life, as he lay on deck, bleeding from the gaping stab would delivered by the shark beast, contemplating the same thing that had consumed his thought for three days. The still beating heart, severed from its body.

It kept him from thinking of the monsters circling around and, once they had left, the massive tentacles rising over the deck railing.

The still beating heart would be the last though of Miles Sweaton, the last man alive on the _Westing Angel_. But no one would ever know that. They would be lucky if anyone even would know of what had happened on that ship, or where that ship would eventually lie at the bottom of the Caribbean.

As the waters rose about him, Miles could still hear the heart, thumping away.

xxxx

_El Cazador _glided between the shallow reef in a channel that seemed to be cut ages ago at perfect right angles. Will peered over the edge of the deck railing at the bow curiously, watching as the fish and dolphins that had been accompanying them from Tortuga suddenly veered away from the ship, as if in terror. He furrowed his eyebrows. For the animals to suddenly shy away, this had to be bad news. But, still the sloop kept on its course.

It had taken three days to get here from what seemed like the last bit of land. Three days of nothing but silence from their would-be captain and the wind at their back. Three days of open seas, without a scrap of land in sight. Not even a shallow reef dared disturb the depths of the sea.

But what a strange three days it had been. The winds remained perfect, calm and consistent, blowing them in what seemed to be precisely the right direction. The waves were just shallow chop, contrary to the Caribbean's nature as ever changing, ever fluxing. The sky had been unmarred by even the faintest of cottony clouds the entire time. The sunsets were wildly vivid and exquisite, and even the heat had seemed to dissipate, leaving the mildest of conditions. Will had never quite seen weather like this. It was as if the whole world had stopped for the passing of _El Cazador _and her crew.

The crew seemed to notice this change. They had grown silent and reserved. Occasionally, Mr, Gibbs would attempt to drum up a game of cards or dice with some of the others of the crew. It would go on for a few moments, before dying and falling apart. Will had never seen pirates turn down a chance to gamble away their ill gotten goods.

Will turned to Cotton. The blue and gold macaw perched atop the mute's shoulder flapped its wings uneasily. "Dead men tell no tales."

The blacksmith didn't fancy that much, either. Mr. Cotton's parrot had an uncanny knack for saying exactly the right thing at the right time. Will had learnt that hard lesson on the island of the cannibals on a day not so long ago that seemed years before then. The blue and gold macaw flapped its wings a stiff, unsure beat, as if confused as per whether it should flee or attempt to find safe refuge upon _El Cazador_. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and said a silent prayer, before allowing his hand to slip to the hilt of his cutlass. Will would be ready for anything.

Will glanced to the rest of the crew. They seemed just as rattled and unnerved as he felt, and for no reason, it seemed. The only two who didn't seem put off by all this were Barbossa and his strange little, undead monkey. Jack, the monkey, chittered gayly as he sat upon his master's strong, broad shoulders, munching on a bit of hard tack. Barbossa bore a steady smile, as though he recognized this eerie little patch of ocean with its unearthly perfect straight carved out of the reef.

Will peered over the port side, giving a second glance to the seemingly unnatural formation of coral beneath them. A small group of black tipped sharks patrolled anxiously, waiting for a meal. Other than that, as the sun set, blazing a scarlet trail through the skies, there was nothing. Not an animal. Will watched for as long as the light would allow, and even some time after that, as the darkness of night overtook the Caribbean, but saw nothing more save the perfectly right edge of the reef.

The sails were drawn, save the storm jib, and the ship just crawled through the straight in the middle of nowhere. Barbossa just smiled as it went, even as night settled over this startling quiet patch of the Caribbean. Will went to approach him, but Barbossa put a finger to his lips in caution before the younger man could say anything.

"These are unchartered waters we travel. Best to keep quiet," the captain warned.

Will froze, a cold chill rushing up his spine and freezing him to the core. "Why?"

"Because these be the waters of your darkest imaginings." Barbossa gave a stifled chuckle at the thought, despite Will's confusion. "We're almost there." He pointed at the nothingness. "Out there, be the World's End." The captain sounded pleased. "Perhaps the only place in the world you can sit a spell with a dead man, or avoid everything and everyone at the same time."

Will peered into the darkness and saw nothing, but a tiny light.

xxxx

There she was. _El Cazador. _Just sitting there, unprotected.

But, in the distance, heralded a tiny, red light. A beacon of some form. Norrington knew no island or marked lighthouse in these waters.

"Get the long boats."


	4. The World's End

RED SKY

They could hear the island long before they ever set foot upon it.

The island was a raucous, yet somber place. It was everything wild and improper about Tortuga, but it somehow felt a sin to even be there unless you were meant to be. Only Will did Barbossa allow to accompany him to the island, rowing together in a tiny boat, side by side, to cover the open water faster. Even Mr. Gibbs and Miss Elizabeth were forced to stay aboard _El Cazador _where the sloop remained moored away from the island. Neither said a word until they were on the beach.

Finally, Will made his move; the words fell from his tongue flatly, without eve the slightest intonation of emotion. "I still do not trust you, you know that, right?"

"Y'know, Miss Swann pretty much asserted the same thing far 'fore ye," Barbossa replied quickly, knowingly; the pirate captain turned to the blacksmith, a gleam in his weathered eye. "But, I assumed as much."

Turner nodded and growled sharply, "I met my father, did you assume that?"

"Ah, so father and son were reacquainted without the help of St. Peter an' his Pearly Gates? That could only mean one thing if ye knew not of the World's End." Barbossa spun around, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Tell me, how does 'e look after all this time? How many years does Ol' Bootstrap Bill have left in the service of Davy Jones?"

"An eternity," Will spat like a stinging venom.

The pirate captain's face fell in shock; Barbossa clearly had not been expecting that to be placed upon his hands. "Eternity?"

"My father gave his immortal soul for mine, to save me from the same fate as he suffers now. And it is all your fault." Will practically snarled, his voice holding the ferocity of a wild beast, and all directed on Captain Barbossa.

Barbossa had enough, drawing his pistol in the blink of an eye and placing the cold, round muzzle of it just beneath Turner's chin. "Thats enough o' that!" The hammer made an almost unnoticeable scrape that only a blacksmith's ears would hear as the pistol was cocked. "Now don't you be saying such lies about me." The gun fell away, replaced as the moment of rage subsided; Barbossa struggled to regain his composure. "I did no such thing as to force yer father into an accord with Davy Jones." He glanced up and smiled warmly. "Ah, we're here." The captain turned to Will, gesturing to the nearest building, brightly lit from the inside. "I brought you here for a reason, boy, now don't forget."

Will looked up, reading the sign aloud in shock. "The World's End Pub?"

The blacksmith could hardly believe his eyes. The World's End that Tia Dalma spoke of was no more than a mere pub and tavern! How in the world could a man swallowed by a mythological creature pop up there? And why? Will knew Jack Sparrow too well. Although Jack favored the rum, after the destruction of his _Pearl, _the pirate would be out for blood, not a tavern. Sparrow would have been after Davy Jones and the _Flying Dutchman, _not this run down, wreck of a tavern.

"Aye," Barbossa snarled before growing stone sober and serious. "See that you keep from bothering any of these folk. This is the one place in the whole world where you can consort with all manners of creatures alive, dead, and other. Bear that in mind with whatever ye come into contact with."

Turner almost fell on his back and died of laughter. The tavern was run down at best. The harsh storms of the Caribbean had clearly taken their toll on the building, ripping the terra cotta tile work from off the roof here and there, and scaring the aged, gray planks of the walls. The World's End Pub looked no better than a shack or some fishing shanty. Turner half expected to walk in and see his old master, drunk and slumped over the bar, stinking of "all sorts."

"What might there be that is worse than Davy Jones and his kraken?"

"Old gods." Barbossa drew in a breath before rapping three times upon the doorframe. "And be always mindful of the fact that you, unlike most of them, are most decidedly mortal." The door swung open; Barbossa lit up. "Gents! How long has it been? How are you?"

The entire assorted pub goers cried out greetings in response, but drew oddly silent as William entered. They turned back to their drinks and their cards, trying to ignore the mortal man. However, Will had already seen them. They were an unusual grouping. Obviously rotting men, soldiers with gaping bullet wounds, pirates stabbed with sabers, sitting alongside even naval officers pierced by cutlasses, playing cards. Across the room sat a table of giggling girls dressed in Moorish garb, with gold bangles dripping off of them sat amid a small cloud of stars, dancing and twinkling about them. A sorrowful seeming mummy bundled in aged linens sat at the bar, sipping grog from a pewter mug. The band, comprised seemingly entirely of faeries but led by a satyr, played their guitars, small drums and flutes in a corner.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Will breathed softly.

But Barbossa didn't answer; he had already gone up to the pub and asked for the tender. "Honey meade, if you have."

The bartender, a rather tall, scrawny, dead seeming man strode up. "Ah, Captain Barbossa." He tipped his hat, revealing a harsh gash, caked with old, dried blood, with kits of white bone jutting out here and there. "Meade, 'en?" Barbossa nodded as the tender readied a mug before slamming it down. "On the house." He leaned close. "So, she gave you your reprieve?"

"Aye." The pirate took another sip. "What's the word?"

"Word is, Davy Jones is raising all hell in the civilized ports to get his heart back." The bartender looked warily about his charges. "Good thing we have their protection to keep the devil at bay." The dead man rubbed the back of his neck. "They say the _Flying Dutchman _and her crew sacked three ports for no reason, save to make the waters run red. They say Jones is out and after anyone who was involved in anything related to his heart."

Will looked to his new captain and whispered, "What happened to him?"

"That's Isaac. Killed, I reckon," the captain replied, cryptically adding, "He's tied to the World's End Pub until someone frees him." Barbossa's voice dropped so low that Will almost wouldn't have heard what he said if he hadn't have been paying such close attention, as the captain turned his attention back to the bartender. "I need to see her again."

"What about?" the walking corpse hissed through his teeth.

"About my charge."

The tender nodded slowly. "Then you'll be needing to speak to him." Isaac, the undead barman, lifted a boned finger, pointing to the far back of the pub, to where a hallway ducked back, lit only by the faintest of red light. "There."

Barbossa took his mug and drank it down, as if he needed the alcohol to steel himself. He gestured to Will to have a drink; however, the blacksmith steadfastly refused with a simple shake of his head. But, if only Will knew the truth, he probably would have imbibed himself. The two slowly, quietly, and cautiously strode down the hall, as the noises of the pub melted away. The entire crowd drew silent and even the band stopped playing as they say where the pair dared to trespass.

The hallway felt small and cramped, as if it closed around them as they walked. The floor seemed to shift and move, as if they had stepped foot upon the deck of a ship. And the smoke, the plumes of some strange incense played tricks with their minds, changing the shadows on the walls. Will furrowed his eyebrows, focusing, concentrating.

Barbossa led him to the end of the hall, to a great crimson door. There were carvings upon it. Dragons and sea monsters. They curled this way and that. They danced and snarled. Will could almost hear their cries and shrieks of anger and rage as they fought one another.

'Must be that damned incense,' Will thought.

The blacksmith looked to the pirate beside him. Barbossa stood quietly at first, looking down upon his feet and muttering something Will could not hear at all. He wondered if the pirate captain prayed, and, if so, to what god or gods. The captain drew in a deep, hesitant breath, trying to steady himself. Then, he threw the door open, to nothingness, to void and darkness.

There was a moment of pregnant silence, broken only by the faintest of hisses.

"Whomsoever dares disturb me should know that I eat first, ask questions second." A deep, dark, and throaty voice greeted the pair; Will swallowed the lump in his throat. "Who requests my audience?"

"I do," Barbossa replied.

The pirate captain was the first to enter the dark room. Only a pair of reflective eyes, like cat's eyes, could be seen in the dark. Their yellow surface glinted and gleamed. They narrowed upon seeing Barbossa before them. A low hiss filled Will's ears, unsettling in its tone and discord. However, that was not what struck Will when he immediately entered the room. No, before the sound, the scent filled his nostrils, unable to be covered by the thick, choking incense. There lay a beast in that room, somewhere, judging by the smell of it, the harsh, animal musk.

"My, my, you dare to come back to here without your task completed?"

The captain shook his head and took to a knee, bowing his head before this creature of shadow; Barbossa removed his hat and placed it against his chest. "No. I have come in search of aid for my quest."

"Quest?" Will blurted out.

Barbossa gave him a sharp jab behind the knee, forcing the blacksmith down to the ground. "Aye, my task. She told me I could have any tool, any resource I needed to complete my appointed task. She sent me to ye for 'nything I might require." The eyes narrowed further to tiny slits of light. "I have come to collect."

A deep, haunting laugh bellowed from the dark; the eyes bobbed slightly. "Ah, so you have come to collect from me?"

"Aye..."

The eyes settled. "And what could you possibly need from Corruban?"

"I require one last member to me crew."

The eyes drew near; hot breath of some giant beast poured over them. "What?" The voice had become a low, throaty growl, predatory in nature. "What? I could swallow your soul for my supper, and you dared disturb me for a mere mortal soul?"

"Not just any."

Will smirked; now, he knew what Barbossa drove for.

The eyes shifted back, retreating away from them again. "And just who would this one mortal soul be?"

"Jack Sparrow." Barbossa smiled to himself coyly.

The eyes closed; the voice sounded disheartened somehow. "Then you shall have to go to her and request it yourself." A shining coin was tossed out of the darkness; Barbossa deftly caught it without even flinching. "Take this so my sister shall know that I have sent you."

The captain pocketed the coin, stood, turned, and left. Will could not help but stumble after him, somehow afraid of whatever the thing in the darkness was. They walked together through the pub, directly to the door. All eyes were upon them, in quiet awe, surprised that they had not been eaten or worse. Will dared not say a word, least of all when a wee fairy reached out to just touch one of the men who had stood up to the beast in the dark, just to feel his clothes. If only he had just paused long enough to notice the man in the green jacket and the tricorn hat at the bar itself.

It was only when they were safely outside, that he dared ask, "What was that thing?"

"That thing, my boy, is one of the oldest things in these waters. An old god, to say the least," Barbossa explained as they readied the boat. "And a rather infamous one at that." The two men jumped into the boat. "I made a deal with his sister in that very pub after I died at Jack's hand. Never seen her face; never knew her name. Just knew her task." They rowed together, away from the island. "I owe them this life of mine."

Will furrowed his eyebrows. "What did you promise them?"

"It's no nevermind of yours."

The blacksmith sighed. "So, how do we find this island?"

Barbossa held up the coin; the silver surface flashed in the moonlight, revealing faint drawings. "With this."

xxxx

Norrington had seen enough.

He had heard more than enough in gossip and in the conversations of Barbossa and William Turner. Jack Sparrow was dead, dead to the world. Yet, these two dared to walk into a bar of gods and monsters, challenge and ancient monster, and ask them to return a dead man to the world of the living.

And they spoke of a creature on a island with control over life and death its self.

He had to report back to Beckett with this information.

But first, being a privateer, he would finish his drink and savor a bit of the nightlife there, gleaning as much information as possible from the locals. His lips curled ever so slightly at the thought of what delights could be had with such mythic creatures about him. Norrington sat and contemplated what treasures these beings could possibly have for him to plunder.


	5. Dead Men

RED SKY

They wasted no time in putting _El Cazador _to sail and putting as much distance between them and the World's End as possible. Elizabeth couldn't quite understand why, but she could see it in Will. Something had startled him, surprised the man who had faced the kraken twice and gambled his own life with Davy Jones. Which could only mean one thing...

They were all in grave danger.

The woman trust him to keep her safe, but, in taking their chances with demons, Elizabeth didn't know anymore. She found herself more and more distanced by that, and by Will's coldness to her. Secretly, she wondered if he knew of her betrayal of Jack. Elizabeth prayed he didn't. She merely watched closely as Will was drawn into Barbossa's web, ready to pull him out whenever he needed it.

Gibbs slid up beside her. "I don't reckon ye trust Barbossa either."

"No. I just cannot find it in me to put any faith in him," she admitted.

"Ye think Will trusts 'im?" the man inquired.

"I hope not."

xxxx

Lord Cutler Beckett hated interruptions.

He especially hated interruptions from men who were overstepping their boundaries, particularly privateers with letters of the mark from King George. They always seemed to drop in on the very worst of moments.

Particularly when Beckett's latest attempt to unlock the secrets of Davy Jones heart had just failed miserably. Nearly every scientist, priest, spiritualist, voodoo healer, seer, and all sorts of sordid experts in their field had their crack at it. To date, not one of them had given Beckett any clue how to control the undead captain and his crew of miscreants. And this was all to the nobleman's great anger and rage.

Seeing James Norrington in his Port Royal office didn't help much, either.

"What brings you here, Mr. Norrington?" Beckett asked.

Norrington grinned to himself as the man placed the heart in a glass case and locked the still beating thing in securely. "I see you have not yet unraveled the heart of Davy Jones."

"We have learnt much, but there are many questions yet unanswered."

The privateer nodded slowly, trying to figure exactly how to play the cards he held; he carefully baited the question. "Is it true what they are saying about?"

"And what are they saying?" Beckett practically demanded.

Norrington paused, looking out the window and knowing the effect the momentary silence had on the nobleman. "They say that Davy Jones is on a rampage to regain his lost heart."

Beckett let out a heavy, annoyed sigh. "What do you want, pray tell?"

The former Commodore still bore than Cheshire cat grin, the smile of someone who knew something you didn't or of the cat that had swallowed the canary. Either way, he could not help but keep that expression. Norrington bore the upper hand this time, over Beckett. He had something the East India Company needed to know about, and now, when things with the heart were so crucial.

"I come to bring you a gift." Norrington practically cried it out. "I think I may have found a way to figure that damned heart out."

"And how do you propose to know that?"

The privateer dragged into office what he had been hiding behind him, just outside the door. Isaac. Bartender from the World's End Pub, the oldest bar in the world, or, at the very least, the Caribbean. Bound and tied. Norrington threw him on the floor of the office, and his hat felt right off of Isaac's head, revealing the deep gash. Beckett gasped at the most certainly fatal wound and placed a cloth over his nose before approaching any closer

Isaac grit his teeth for a moment, then, spat at them. "Bastards."

Beckett ignored the undead man, looking to Norrington. "Where did you find this?"

"I followed Mr. William Turner and Ms. Elizabeth Swann." Norrington's heart crushed slightly at mentioning Elizabeth, but he continued. "They are serving Captain Barbossa, formerly of the _Black Pearl." _Beckett feigned disinterest in that little tidbit. "I spotted their current vessel, _El Cazador_, outside of Tortuga and followed it to a small island, unmarked on any of my maps. The natives their call it Skeleton Cay."

"There are more of them like this?" Beckett whispered.

"Yes."

The nobleman nodded. "Why were they making port there?"

"I'm not sure."

But Beckett saw some flicker of recognition in Isaac's long dead eyes. "You, corpse. Why would Barbossa make port at Skeleton Cay?" When the bartender spoke not a word, the noble fumed, "You tell me, or I shall use the heart of Davy Jones against you, however I can."

Norrington choked back a laugh at the thought, but Isaac's eyes went wide. "They're looking to win back Jack Sparrow's soul."

"You can do that?" Cutler breathed.

The undead man chuckled almost hideously insanely. "No. I can't. I am bound by my own pact." He shook his head. "But she can. She can bring back anyone she deems fit, for she is their warden."

"Who?"


	6. Bearings

RED SKY

Tortuga had always been a place of refuge, of safety, for pirates. However, these days, all sorts of people found security in that baudy port. When Will looked around, he barely recognized the pirate central. At least, it was hard to see anything familiar amid all the tired, scared, and hurt faces around. They were bloody, dirty, but quiet and sullen. Perhaps that was the difference, really. The quiet. Tortuga had never been that quiet, either.

Nor had so many ships lay at the bottom of Tortuga's bay.

William Turner had problems threading his way through the thick crowds. The people just shuffled slowly from the docks and the ships. When the blacksmith turned to see the other ships, he even wondered how such battered and broken vessels could have even limped into port. Davy Jones had been taking no chances with any of these travelers to find his missing heart.

He shuddered at thought and made quick to load any goods they needed. The blacksmith tried not to think of the suffering they had caused by not destroying the heart its self when they had the chance. But Jack had stopped him.

Barbossa led the way, back to the old tavern, dodging the injured that shuffled about. The pirate captain seemed tired, walking with a slight hunch, but he still smiled upon the monkey's chittering and patted the small thing almost lovingly. Will shook his head, still unsure of what exactly to make of the pirate captain. However, judging by her annoyed sniff, Will knew exactly what Elizabeth thought of Barbossa and his supposed turn of heart.

The blacksmith shook his head. He hated Barbossa, that much was for certain. But the man still owed his captain some sense of loyalty and trust. For what indeed did Barbossa have to lose anymore? Or really, what did Barbossa stand to gain from betraying his crew yet again? Nothing. The crew could just barely hold its own with how short handed they already were.

They were almost to the pub, or, at least, where the tavern should have been. Instead, there law a burnt out skeleton of the tavern. Large holes where the framing should have been crumpling inward, obviously having been hit by cannonfire.

And there, amidst it all, was Jezebel. The still corseted and regal looking prostitute dashed this way and that. Her skirts were hiked up high, tucked under her corset, and revealing her white, lacy bloomers. Soot and blood marred her creamy dress with long, ugly streaks. It was tore and tattered her and there. Her hair had been tossled and mussed from the activity. She looked flustered.

The lady of the night almost barreled right into Will. "Hey! Watch where ye're goin'."

"Wait! Hold!" the blacksmith clawed at the air and grabbed Jezebel sharply by the wrist, stopping her. "What happened here?"

"Ye didn't know?" Shock filled her face; her eyes glistened. "Ye didn't see it, did ye?" Will shook his head; Jezebel looked away. "I would nary 'ave believe it if I did nay see it with me own two eyes." She blinked. "'Twas the _Flying Dutchman. _She sacked us, set cannon fire on Tortuga." Jezebel looked away. "Y'know how Tortuga is. 'E caught us with our bloomers down. We didn't stand a chance. Not a chance."

Will let her delicate wrist slip from his hold. "What can we do to help?"

Jezebel looked him square in the eye. "If ye have a good, sea worthy vessel, ye go, hunt down that bastard an' give 'im one for me!" Her face softened slightly. "If ye do, then I promise I'll stop sendin' so many... distasteful messages to Jack Sparrow through ye."

"I promise you, I will. You have my word."

It was when they reached Tia Dalma's swamp that the regret flooded him, overtook him. Actually it was more when he caught first sigh to the oracle's crying eyes. Hey black kohl ran down in thick, dark lines from her eyes, sparkling in the firelight from the thousands of candles. Her eyes held such sorrow, such tremendous sadness, as if the woman bore the weight of the world upon her. Tia Dalma, the Oracle of Hispaniola, had seen through her third eye, her secret eye, the suffering of all those who dared traverse the Caribbean at the hands of Davy Jones, and it pained her so very much.

William could not help but say, as he approached the strange, coy woman, "I am so very sorry."

And Tia Dalma, much to Elizabeth's curiosity, put on an eerie, cheshire cat like smile, grinning from ear to ear, despite her tears. "It be alright." Her fingers brushed his cheek seductively. "For ye bring a smile to m'face."

"Madam," Barbossa greeted her rather formally. "We have come to seek your aid."

Tia Dalma extended a dark hand of hers. "Let me see it."

The captain placed the silver coin in the oracle's awaiting palm. She closed her fingers around it and swirled around, almost diving into her home. Elizabeth was the first to rush after her, following the unusual creature into her house. The budding pirate almost barreled head first into a few of the hanging jays filled with various gross, and absolutely sickening items. It didn't take long for Elizabeth to find the other woman, standing over an alter of sorts.

Elizabeth held her breath, almost afraid to enter. The men had stayed outside, out of respect, yet Swann had just barged in. Somehow, though, it seemed a sacred space to Tia Dalma, a place of voodoo rite and ritual, and not something for a noblewoman to disturb.

The oracle turned, her eyes glistening. "Come in, come in."

Elizabeth swallowed hard and came to the woman's side. Before them, upon the alter, was a map of the Caribbean, spread across an aged, rotting table. The map was old, far older than anything Elizabeth had even seen. To her utter horror, it seemed not to be penned upon parchment or vellum, but stitched into a hide of some form. It looked like human skin, with the tone and the way it had been made, but sewn and inked in crimson. Elizabeth trembled, but forced herself to focus at the map, to study it closely, trying not to dwell on the material it had been made out of. There were islands here and there she did not recognize, along with script the English woman could not read at all.

Tia Dalma noted Elizabeth's furrowed eyebrows. "Dis be the way the waters were before any of your kin came here, before any people came 'ere." The oracle gestured to the map, her arm passing over it. "Dis be the world the way da gods made it to be."

"And you know where we need to go on there?" Elizabeth breathed.

Tia Dalma nodded slowly, solemnly; she pointed with a slender finger to an island that Elizabeth recognized. "Dis be where we be now." The finger slipped away from the larger island, across a great gulf, directly to the island Barbossa had taken them to for but a few hours. "Dis be the World's End." The finger continued on, to the West, to a tiny, island, which would have been indistinguishable, were it not for the markings about it. "Dis be her island. Dis be where you need to be going to be bringing the Jack back."

"There?" Elizabeth whispered. "But that's so far away from any port..."

"Aye," Tia Dalma sang.

"What are these words here?"

The oracle closed her eyes. "Those be words of warnin'." The woman sighed heavily, a tired sort of exhalation, as if reading the words took effort. "'All those who dare set foot upon her island will suffering the terrible judgement of the warden.'"

"What does it mean?" Elizabeth asked fearfully.

"It means, if you be going to the island, ye'd better be damned sure."

The Englishwoman glanced to Tia Dalma with a curious looked upon her face. "What? No words of advice or cryptic messages?" She recalled Jack cradling the jar in a false victory. "No jars of dirt?"

Tia Dalma leaned close, knowingly. "Do not let him see ye be afraid."


	7. Wind Chasers

RED SKY

Will Turner and the crew of _El Cazador _were so predictable, it hurt sometimes.

However, as Norrington dropped the spyglass from his eye, the privateer couldn't help but give a smirk. the _Herald Mark _ had tailed _El Cazador_, slowing stalking the sloop like a lion after its prey ever since the pirates had returned to Tortuga. Norrington knew they'd be there, returning to load up on supplies.

In truth, James had been horribly surprised at the state of affairs in the pirate cove. He had never seen so many vessels there, and never so many just barely breaching the waves. Masts were cracked and destroyed. Hulls had been ripped apart. So many of their keels rested upon the reefs and sand bars beneath the bay there. The fires still glowed ashore by the time the _Herald Mark_ had arrived. Chaos reigned supreme on shore, more so than usual.

"Looks like bloody Hades out 'ere," one of his own crew had commented.

And rightly put. Norrington himself couldn't have better described the situation. The commodore in him wished so desperately to help, but he couldn't. If the _Herald Mark _was seen after their last encounter, Will Turner and _El Cazador _ would never go anywhere near the pirate port. Instead, they would stray far, far away from there. And, with the state of panic about, there was no telling what the pirates would do upon seeing a sea worthy vessel at port with all the others destroyed and who knew what sort of situation with supplies afoot.

No, for as much as he hated to, Norrington kept the _Herald Mark _out of sight and silent, away from everything.

Sure enough, _El Cazador _slowly pulled into sight and moored there. A small party went ashore, but not for too long. And, then, the party returned to the ship, and _El Cazador _started to put as much distance between them and Tortuga as quickly as possible. They followed the winds to Hispaniola, to the swamps.

And, then, the _Herald Mark _ set upon _El Cazador _as soon as they left Hispaniola.

"I'll get you Mr. Turner, and see that you hang for your deeds."

xxxx

The winds pounded the ship just before they got anywhere near Skeleton Cay, and its supernatural tavern. Rains battered the sails and the tired, exhausted crew. But, under Barbossa's stern leadership, they pushed on, through the night, through the rains and the storm. The gales howled as waves splashed up and onto the deck, pitching the sloop up and down.

Elizabeth struggled to keep on her feet in the Captain's quarters. In her bare feet, it was easier to stay up, as the pads of her feet gave better grip on the wood and lavish carpet. The woman half hearted had to thank Barbossa and her fiance for forcing her to remain safely below deck. It surely must have been far harder to keep upright in the midst of the driving winds and splashing waves.

How easy it had been the first time to go to Skeleton Cay; the woman wondered what had changed to stir up such foul luck.

Will's shouting voice, barking orders jolted her attention to him for a moment so fast that she almost fell, before pausing and listening in before whispering, "Well, I hope he is having better luck up there than in here than I fear I am in here."

And, with that said, Elizabeth promptly tumbled down again, taking half the papers stacked upon a desk with her as her hand swatted them down. The woman shook her head, fearing she'd never get her sea legs, and looked out upon the mess she had made. Papers lay scattered about, here and there, all of Barbossa's effects and personal letters. A momentary flash of her polite, respectful self hit as she delicately began to gather the parchment. Then, recalling who exactly they belonged to, Elizabeth bitterly started shuffling them together with one sweep of her arms.

"Bloody pirates, and messy ones at that!"

Then, she stopped, freezing. Her blood ran cold when she recognized something so very sinister seeming, lying so innocently against so many mundane matters. It was a strange little piece of parchment, with such an unusual texture. But, it wasn't that. It was the writing, that odd, so very out of place script that surely did not belong there. The very same writing that had been upon Tia Dalma's ancient map. It seemed so formal and so plotted. At the bottom, Barbossa had signed his own name and stamped his finger beside in in what seemed like dark ink. No, for as Elizabeth looked closer, she could not help but see the brown tinting of blood in the signature and print. Signed and inked in blood.

She gasped. "What on earth?"

Yet, somehow, Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to do anything with it save stuff the parchment in her corset where no respectable man would dare reach. Unbidden, her cheeks flushed at the thought. But, now, she had leverage over Barbossa, and Elizabeth would keep that secret closely guarded. At least, until Jack, Will, and herself were safe.

xxxx

"Mr. Turner! Get yer landlubbing corpse up here!"

Will scrambled to the poop deck, almost having to the crawl up the steps. Water sloshed in his boots as the wind whipped in his hair. He stumbled, slipping on the slick steps and almost striking his chin. His strong, tradesman's hands clawed out and found purchase on the aged, water-logged wood of the steps. He felt utterly miserable out there.

But Barbossa never looked happier. A comical grin spread from ear to ear.

"What has you so pleased?" Will shouted over the storm.

Barbossa let out a bellowing laugh. "This little patch o' fine weather is coverin' our tracks nicely."

"What?"

"Y'did not happened to notice the same damned brigantine from Tortuga has been tailing us this whole time?" Barbossa smirked devilishly. "Storm's shaking those dogs off our heels!"

Will gaped. "What?"

"This storm is a blessing."

xxxx

"Damn."

James Norrington, newly appointed permanent captain of the _Herald Mark_, cursed the storm that held them locked

_El Cazador _had slipped through their fingers.


	8. The Island

RED SKY

Once the storm settled, the fog rolled in. A thick, choking blanket of the white shroud fell upon the decks of _El Cazador. _While everyone else seemed bothered and disturbed by the fog, Elizabeth felt strangely welcomed by the mists. She danced, waltzing among them, trying to raise the spirits of the crew, but to no avail. Even Jack the monkey curled closely against Barbossa's neck, pressing against the captain's face as if out of terror.

She looked to Will. "Dance with me."

Her fiance smiled slightly. "No. I have the feet of angels encased in lead." Elizabeth giggled, but Will sat before her on the foredeck, watching curiously. "You go ahead. Dance for me."

Elizabeth whirled into a waltz with no one.

"She feels it, y'know?" Barbossa whispered in Will's ear. "She knows we be so very close to the island."

"How can you tell?" Will inquired in a breath.

Barbossa pointed, chuckling at her, "Because women on a vessel are nothing but ill luck, Mr. Turner. Of course she would enjoy this!" The man laughed heartily now, slapping his hand upon the blacksmith's shoulder. "Come."

Will followed his captain, surprised at his own obeisance of the barbarian. The crew had stowed the sails long ago, allowing _El Cazador _to just glide through the water, carried by the current and but the storm gib alone. All was calm and quiet on the sloop as the just drifted through waters of this strange, seemingly surreal realm of this corner of the Caribbean. The crew just stepped out of the way for Barbossa and the man who quickly seemed to be turning into his first mate.

At the bow, Barbossa stood proud, drew in a deep breath, and shouted, "LAND HO!"

All glanced forward, but Barbossa held out a hand, staying their sudden jump to action. The captain gestured to his feet for Will to take up a massive crossbow at his feet. Will did as was needed by his captain.

Again, Barbossa called into the mist. "LAND HO!"

There came an echo, faint and muffled, distant.

"Bring a light," Barbossa instructed to Gibbs. It took but a moment for a lantern to be drawn forward, and the captain snatched it up quickly. "Here!"

At first, Will couldn't tell what exactly Barbossa meant. Then, he glanced down, at the bolt loaded in the crossbow. It had been bound at the head with fabric, soaked in oil. Turner could smell it with its stinging, acrid scent. He nodded and barely graced the cloth in the flame of the lantern. The cloth immediately ignited with a hot flash in an instant.

Will looked to his captain, who bellowed into the mist. "Ho!"

"ho..." came the echo, sharper now.

"THERE!" Barbossa shouted. "NOW!"

Will whirled around to where his captain pointed and flung the bolt, watching it soar into nothingness, into the mists. The flame flickered as it soared through the air. Then, suddenly, it stopped dead, as if hovering in mid air. But Will knew better.

"Hard to port!" Barbossa ordered.

Will called it out, like the perfect little first mate. "HARD TO PORT!"

_El Cazador _swung around harshly, almost knocking Elizabeth down from her dance with the sudden turn. However, it was just in time, as the bolt came closer to view. It had been lodged by the shot against a massive boulder jutting from the ocean as if from nowhere. Will counted his lucky stars as _El Cazador _just slipped past the dangerous thing.

He glanced to Barbossa. "How did you know that?"

"Stay on your bolt. There be more of those little things out here, I'd wager." The captain grinned from ear to earn when he did finally look back to Turner. "I told ye we'd be in trouble with Miss Swann in such good graces."

For the rest of that day, the two threaded _El Cazador _through the rocky atoll slowly and carefully, narrowly avoiding the jagged rocks with sheer luck. Elizabeth never stopped dancing the whole time, not until the fog cleared and they were left sailing in open, safe waters again.

Just their luck.

xxxx

"Should we go ashore?"

None of the crew had dared speak once the island had started to come into view. Silence fell upon all who were gathered as the very tops of the jungle trees slipped above the water, creeping over the horizon in an almost sinister way. The only one who made any noise, was Barbossa, who sang to himself softly.

It took Elizabeth's bravado, having been steeled by Tia Dalma, to say anything. "Should we not get the boats ready?"

Barbossa leaned across the rail slightly. "Be ye sure, Miss Swann?" He glanced to her with knowing and teasing eyes, sparkling with sarcasm. "Do ye have any idea what manner of creatures be living on that spit o' land?"

"No..." She looked to her fiance, who gave but a shrug. "No."

"Let me educate ye, Miss Swann, then." Barbossa glared upon the tiny bit of land, really just a jagged mountain stabbing out of the blue Caribbean, wreathed with a shallow coral atoll. "That be the home of old gods, not yet come to terms with their own partin', so to speak." He rubbed his chin. "And she is most definitely not going to be pleased with me."

Elizabeth felt a shudder run through her. "Who..."

But Barbossa ignored the question. "To the boats!" He turned to Elizabeth, the solitary woman of the motley crew. "You, my dear, will remain here." She went to protest. "The things on that little island there are far worse than any cursed Aztec gold or sea monster. And pirate as I may be, I would rather not have your lovely visage ripped apart by some ancient demon or another."

And, with that, they left her behind.

xxxx

Darkness settled quickly and hung over the island.

This place was silent, almost holy. Not even the crickets dared chirp. The moon blazed nearly as bright as the sun, casting an eerie, pale light upon everything. Here and there, a moonflower bloomed its large, billowing wile flowers. Ragetti reached out with his hand for but a moment, to touch the soft, velvety petals, but Barbossa snatched him by the wrist.

"Ye best be leaving that alone."

Ragetti nodded, his wooden eye swiveling wildly. "Yes... sir."

Barbossa stared at the flower for a moment, an almost thoughtful, dazed look in his eyes, distance and cool. "Yes, even the plants can breathe here." He looked upon the landing party, his eyes wide and almost insane looking. "They can smell ye. They smell yer life." Upon seeing the confusion in their faces, Barbossa softened slightly. "They want it, crave it with each an' every one of their thoughts."

William shook his head. "What? The flower desires our life?"

"No, not the flower, but everything else does."


	9. Mist

RED SKY

"For the love of all that is good and holy, Mr. Gibbs, please, help me. Let me go to the island and catch up with him!"

Elizabeth felt tired, exasperated and desperate. Barbossa made her stay back, remaining on _El Cazador_, hopeless to do anything but watch the lanterns of the landing party disappear into the thick undergrowth of the Caribbean jungle. She needed to get to him, to be at Will's side. Everything seemed to work out so much better when the woman stood proud with her fiance. Will protected her, kept her safe from harm, loved her, and the noblewoman repaid him as much as she could. She spent the better part of an hour trying to convince Gibbs to allow her to join the landing party, to be at Will's side again.

Gibbs, steadfastly and respectfully refused. "With all due respect, Miss Swann, you can just sit yerself down and hush up." Elizabeth gasped in shock as his sharpness. "With all due respect, of course." The man sighed as the young woman plopped down beside him. "It's a waste of breath, Miss. I cannot disobey my captain's orders."

"No matter how foolish they are?" Elizabeth retorted.

The man just looked to her, surprised, and asked, "What d'ye mean?"

The woman shook her head, throwing up her arms in surrender. "Tia Dalma." Gibbs just looked to her curiously. "She told me one way to survive all this."

"And what was that?" he inquired.

Elizabeth sighed a heavy breath. "Barbossa's already showing his weakness."

Gibbs didn't understand. "Miss, what did Tia Dalma tell you?"

"Don't let them see you're afraid."

xxxx

"It's so strange."

Will Turner had never felt anything like this in his entire life. This island, it was strange. It seemed to have life, aside from the ordinary flora and fauna native to the Caribbean. No, it was as if the entire island bore a life, intrinsic to even the rocks and the earth, extending into the animals and the plants. It lived. It breathed. And it felt, felt the footsteps of men who should never trespassed there. Will could feel it, from the very tips of his toes to the hairs standing on end on the back of his neck.

They walked for what felt like hours, but the time hardly moved. The moon still hung, full and pregnant, in the exact same place in the sky. The stars barely turned in the heavens above. Will and the rest of the crew marveled at it, all except for Barbossa, who seemed not at all surprised by it.

Instead, Barbossa looked keenly upon the fine mists that seemed to be gathering and pooling about them; the old captain looked to his party. "Move silently now." He glanced about, taking in everything around them. "They hear us."

Will didn't dare ask. Instead, he just bravely followed Barbossa deeper into the jungle. He held the lamp out for a moment, catching sight of a strange, white bird in the trees. It kept the blacksmith in its gaze, its sight lingering upon Will, just as Turner could not help but look upon the bird. It appeared to be a white hawk of some form. The creature tilted its head to one side, called a strange coo, and fluttered off into the shadows. He peered into the darkness, and something, something gold and flashing moved out there. It disappeared, along with the bird before Will could really see.

He strained to see and hear, but there came not a sound. In fact, the island seemed to draw sound away from them, swallowing it up. The lantern light also fell short, swallowed up into the inky darkness of night. The blacksmith almost thought this strange land hungered for sound and light.

They walked on, further.

But Will swore he heard something lurking still.

xxxx

Elizabeth finally decided to retire after some time, much to Gibbs thanks. He had grown tired of hearing nothing but her begging and bickering with him. Barbossa held the captain's place, and, as such, his word, his order could not be questioned. To do so would be a direct disregard for his orders, a crime very much punishable in some rather unsavory ways. Gibbs far rather bear with the ire of the woman than the wrath of his captain, no matter who served that post.

Those words of hers rung in his ears. The man had never been fond of Tia Dalma ever. He found she always sent them head first into the worst possible of situations. It had remained Jack's decision whether or not to actually head off, but it was always her advice that put the ideas in Jack's mind, it seemed. The damned oracle had a way about her of telling truths in riddles and puzzles, without ever really telling the whole truth to anyone.

He pondered the oracle's advice as he strode the deck.

A soft scuff caught Gibb's attention behind him. He whirled around, expecting to see Mr. Cotton, or any of the other members of the crew, but not expecting at all what he saw. The last thing Mr. Gibbs saw before that flash of light behind his eyes and the sharp thud of something hard thumping his own skull, was no earthly creature. It was a demon, of the purest and the oldest of blood.

Darkness overtook Gibbs before he ever hit the ground.

xxxx

The mist suddenly grew thicker, curling around them, as if attracted to them, drawn in by gravity. Barbossa didn't like it. He held up a hand, signaling silently for his landing party to stop dead in their tracks. The men all drew to an abrupt halt, just standing, waiting, freezing there in the darkness.

Barbossa glanced over his shoulder and growled, "Douse those lamps."

Will swiftly did as he was told, pausing to draw his sword slowly, quietly, daring not to make a single sound. As the metal gave a slight hiss, the blacksmith cringed. His workmanship on the blade and its sheath had been impeccable, but no metal worker or blade smith could ever completely get rid of the all too characteristic sound of a weapon being unsheathed. It rang a dead give away.

Barbossa glared at Will, but spoke not an utterance. Instead, the pirate captain turned his attention to the jungle as another crewman snuffed the final lamp. The man crouched slightly, like an animal. Will took a swordsman's stance, proper and regal. Both stood as still as statues, opening their ears and taking in every sound around them, no matter how small.

It came from behind them at first. An unnatural cry. A predatory feline call, as a jaguar in the mists. It came from the trees. The entire group spun around to see it, but there sat no beast, no man, no creature in the trees around them. At least nothing they could see in the shadows of the moon about them.

Barbossa both thanked his lucky stars for the full moon and cursed the damned sphere in the sky at the same time. It illuminated the wild, untamed lands well enough for them to see by, to peer into the shadows. However, on the same token, whatever nocturnal creature stalked them could see just as well, or most likely better, especially added with the pale lunar beams. If the pirate captain could have doused the moon's light, he probably would have.

Will, meanwhile, maintained a keen ear before them, and rightfully so. With so many ears and eyes focused behind them, someone had to keep watch ahead. And, with good cause as another cry rang out in front of them, answering whatever creature skulked behind them. But, still, there roamed nothing, no beast or animal, in his eyesight.

Barbossa grabbed Turner by the shoulder and towed the younger man with him as he approached the center mass of the landing party. "Get close an' put yer backs to each other."

"What is it?" Will breathed.

Barbossa grinned from ear to ear. "Old beasts."

A dark mass sprang from the trees, right at them.

xxxx

"Why can pirates never be organized?" Elizabeth snarled.

After giving up on persuading Gibbs to take her ashore, the woman had retired to the captain's quarters to continue in her attempts to make any sense of the parchment that had been signed and stamped by Barbossa in blood of some form. It seemed like a contract, that was sure, but, for what, Elizabeth couldn't tell. Instead, she spent her time searching through the papers and journals this way and that, but with no luck. The previous captain of _El Cazador _had been a meticulous note taker, too meticulous, filling journal upon journal with needlessly detailed logs of their travels.

Elizabeth had also spent some time trying to search for the silver coin Barbossa had Tia Dalma inspect, but with no luck. The captain had to have taken it with him upon the island. She cursed him for knowing her that well.

A shadow passed over the windows behind her.

Elizabeth jumped but calmed herself immediately. It was probably just one of Jack's crewmen, feeling antsy for the sight of a woman in indecent states. She smirked, steeled herself and drew an old, rusted cutlass from where it stood, propped by the door. Elizabeth Swann was not one to be messed with or taken so lightly; she'd show them.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath and kicked the door open from the inside, shouting, "Alright you..."

The woman hadn't been expecting what awaited her on the other side of the door to the captain's quarters; she trailed off from her annoyed rant as her brain desperately tried to make sense of the cobbling together of so many unlike things. It bore a shining, shimmering gold face, snarling upon her with large, pointed fangs. A thick main of black hair hung down over most of its body, wreathing the face like a lion. It growled at her and swung a massive paw at her.

Elizabeth jumped back, slamming the door behind her. "Oh, no you don't."


	10. Historical Cyclical

RED SKY

Beast and demons roamed the earth long before man, and they will continue to traverse this grand tapestry of life, the universe, and everything. Their bloodlines could, at one point, be traced back to the beginning, to before time had ever been recorded, and beyond. Their strength, their ferocity shall exist until the end of all existence, whether through blood or legend.

As a young man, Will Turner had always read about the monsters and mysterious creatures of the world. At some time or another, he had come across the book of _The Odyssey_, and fell into that world of Odysseus. His favorite parts had always been when "Nobody" blinded the Cyclops and when the ship had to narrowly skirt around the Charybdis and the Scylla. His mother hated her son's interest in such tales and tried as hard as she could to divert him from such stories. Now, knowing what life and death had befallen "Boostrap" Bill Turner, Will understood why his mother loathed Homer's books of Odysseus and his journey home.

When Will first saw the kraken, something in him strangely fell back to his childhood, thinking of Poseidon's great beasts, of the Charybdis, pondering if perhaps, just maybe, Odysseus had somehow gotten past the great evil thing that was the kraken.

Now, upon seeing this thing lunging towards them, unbidden, the image of the chimera flashed into his mind. A creature that had never truly been man, nor truly a beast. A hybrid. It had always been described as a hideous, furred monster, with flashing claws and teeth. A thick, wooly mane billowed back from its snarling face, flowing behind it and over the beast, like fur. But Will had never been expecting the patterning, the leopard spots dappling up the long, tanned legs, nor the inhuman, but no where near recognizable as animalistic snarl.

He froze in horror, sword drawn, waiting for the opportune moment as time seemed to slow down. Will drew in a breath and sunk lower in his stance, holding his saber up higher, ready for the strike. Time suddenly sped forward when Barbossa shoved Will aside, just out of the creature's path. Barbossa ducked out of the way just as it landed, tucking into a neat roll and lashing out with its pointed claws, swinging at the captain; the pirate however, just kept stepping back and away from the chimera.

Will looked to the frightened crew, steeling himself and barking out, "Ready!"

xxxx

A monster.

A year or two ago, Elizabeth might never have believed such a terrible beast to live and draw breath. However, in but a short time, the woman had seen too many impossibilities become realities that, despite her mind's logical protests, the noblewoman knew it had to be true. Her eyes had seen cursed Aztec gold, two pirate crews of the damned, a captain who resemble an octopus, and an hideous killed demon of the deep. She had to trust that this thing pounded away at the door existed in reality.

The door trembled with each passing blow; books and items on the racks closest to it shook and rattled. The wood creaked as if it would give at any moment. Elizabeth steadied herself and drew up the rusted cutlass she had merely been intending to tease Gibbs and the remaining crew with. Will had taught her well. She couldn't really surprise her enemy, but this strange quarry had been slowed to a grinding halt by the door. The woman would just wait patiently, as her fiance had taught her. If you can't get the drop on them, wait for the enemy to come to you, make them do all the work, extend all the effort.

Elizabeth just had to trust that Gibbs and the rest of the crew were faring well.

A splinter of wood shot out of the door, knocked loose by what appeared to be a gleaming, gold claw. It skittered across the floor to a halt at Elizabeth's feet. She shuddered slightly, knowing now just how formidable a creature this monster was, just how powerful and strong it was. However, Elizabeth knew Will's instruction would serve her well.

She hadn't been expecting the sudden splash of twinkling, sprinkling glass at her feet, nor the sudden smash of a heavy mass plunging through the massive windows behind her, catching her off guard. While the one on the other side of the door had kept her distracted, another beast had managed to traverse the deck above, its sounds covered by the thudding upon the door, and crash though the window while her back had been turned.

But her nerves had been on end, and Elizabeth knew to turn and face her foe immediately, still keeping an ear out on the one behind the door. This one swayed from one side to the other, as a wolf would, its weight never straying long on one foot. A smart tactic. It would draw her attention on the motion and keep her from guessing which way the beast would strike first.

Elizabeth glared at the demon right in its dark eye. "It's polite to knock before entering."

The thing snarled and gave a quick step forward, striking out with a smooth arc of its massive, ebony furred paw. Elizabeth retaliated with her cutlass, swinging out with the rusted, old cutlass fiercely, grunting with the effort. The beast just seemed to dance to the right, crouching lower and drawing its paws up, defending its self.

"Especially," Elizabeth took a long step forward, slashing through the air at the monster before her. "When it is a lady's room!"

Too late, did the woman realize her mistake, her grave error. She had taken too long of a step, advanced her opponent too far. Will would have chastised her severely for allowing herself to get so off-balanced, putting too much energy into the attack and loosing her focus on maintaining a good defense. However, at that moment, her fiance wasn't there to chuckle, laugh, and tease the woman about her accident. No, instead, there stood this evil thing that bore only malice and no mercy for a foolish fighter.

"Damn..."

The creature came at her suddenly, just as the door's hinges gave way.

Elizabeth's eyes went wide. "Not good."

xxxx

How strange and unusual it felt to be running to Barbossa's aid. Will had spent so very long hating the pirate captain for what he had down to them. Barbossa, after all, had marooned Jack twice and Elizabeth once, murdered his father, almost killed him, lied, cheated, and destroyed lives across the Caribbean. For so long, from the moment he first saw the _Black Pearl _and up until Sparrow had fired that one, lucky shot of his, Will had longed for nothing more than to see Barbossa dead.

However, now, Turner needed the pirate captain, for whatever bad blood flowed between them. So, the blacksmith took up his saber and rushed after the black demon that threatened his captain. The man held up his blade ready to slash down and through the back of the creature that drove Barbossa deeper into the underground.

Will never got the chance to strike such a blow, as a heavy weight slammed into him and sent him to the ground. The wind knocked out of him as he hit the wet earth of the island's jungle. Immediately, the blacksmith tried to roll to one side and fend off whatever had struck him down, but the weight still pinned him down. He reached back and elbowed it hard in the face, feeling a sharp pain ring out in his bone, like hitting it on the big anvils in the shop.

The beast let out a cry and shrank back, into the underground. Will sat there for a moment, gazing into the shadows, expecting it to come back at him. Still, as the quivering fronts of fern stopped moving, Will knew it would not return from that spot. This creature actually bore a strange intelligence to know well enough not to attack from the same angle again and again.

Will's ears caught a strange cooing noise of the bird he had seen not too long ago, jolting him back to his previous focus. The captain. His captain. He looked to Barbossa as the creature attacking him reeled back and into the shadows.

The older man panted, tired; sweat rolled down and off his face.

"Captain?" Will breathed.

Barbossa gave a half-smile at the blacksmith. "Been some time since I been mortal. Just 'bout forgot what 's like." He looked to Will. "Ye're well on your way to becoming a right pirate, First Mate."

Will didn't know what to think or feel at that; he almost thanked his lucky stars for the sudden pounding and drumming of many heavy feet into the trees, circling around them in the shadows. Those many enemies swirling around them saved Turner from giving any response, whether for the position or the negative, to the man he had reluctantly accepted as his captain.

Barbossa stood at Will's side but placed a hand on the smith's arm when he held up his saber at the ready again. "No. Wait."

Will responded with a quick shout to the men. "Hold!"

The captain looked to the younger man at his side, a mild, devilish gleam in his eye, almost proud. Turner ignored it, returning his gaze to the darkness and void of the jungle just outside the pale light of the moon. He focused on the sounds upon them, trying to train his ears on at least one set of steps. But there remained something so eerily familiar about those sounds.

Barbossa held out a hand, palm to the ground and fingers splayed.

Will called the order. "Steady."

The sounds suddenly turned inwards, towards them.

"STEADY!"

xxxx

Elizabeth's lady like graces and previous life as a simple noblewoman came to her in a lightning strike. She barely thought about the reaction as her feet danced across the floor. Attending balls, parties, and grand masquerades had the woman well practiced in the waltz, and her nimble feet carried her with a seemingly solitary, elegant move.

Her hand reached out into air, towards the desk. Her fingers curled around the dagger someone had been using previously as a letter opener. And, then, Elizabeth stopped on a dime, holding the dagger to the beast on her left, still standing just outside the door frame, and bearing the cutlass at the monster to her right as if shuffled in front of the utterly destroyed window.

Will's training called out in her mind.

Elizabeth raised a daring eyebrow upon these two creatures that dared attack her. "You think you can take me?" Her voice taunted the monsters. "You think you can kill a woman who took on Davy Jones and his kraken?" The pair of demons made soft, angry seeing barks at one another. "Then come and get me!"

They rushed her bitterly, but Elizabeth had the jump on them. She had been ready and waiting for them. As they drew near, just near enough, the woman gave a slight fox trot to one side, and let them almost run head first into each other. Then, Elizabeth bolted for the door, feeling most triumphant and ready to take on anything that lay ahead.

She hadn't been ready for the blunt object that struck her from behind.

Elizabeth tumbled to the ground, landing hard on the old, worn deck of _El Cazador. _Distantly, the woman registered the sounds of Pintel and Ragetti arguing in terror and fright as they ran. She tried to cry out to them, but the sounds came out all muffled. The world rocked and titled, more so than usual aboard any ship. Elizabeth reached out with one hand and felt with the other hand to the back of her head, and finding something warm and sticky plastering her hair to her head. It didn't take looking at her wet hand to know what the substance was, yet Elizabeth could not fight the compelling urge to look upon her crimson stained hand.

"Mr. Gibbs..." she called out.

Her vision focused finally, seeing the man lying, sprawled and unconscious before her in a heap. But Gibbs wasn't the only one. The last ten of fifteen members of the crew had been either dragged there and laid out on the main deck, blooded and bruised, most out cold. Pintel and Ragetti were swiftly herded back towards Elizabeth by a forth demon.

The woman glanced ahead of her, to where the dagger and the cutlass had fallen, just as Gibb's side. She moved to reach for them, but one of the ebony monsters snatched them up and hurled the weapons off the side of the sloop and into the Caribbean with a small splash.

Elizabeth rolled onto her back and stared up at the monster over her, into those black sockets where eyes should have been. Instead, she stared into nothingness and void. But that wasn't what surprised her or shock her by the beastly visage. It horrified her to no end, but not quite like the woman would have imagined. The creature stood taller, prouder over the fallen noblewoman, preening and posturing its self in a dominant position. It stared out, as if proudly, over its prey. The back half of its left paw glistened with the scarlet of Elizabeth's own blood.

In the ether of the world around her, Elizabeth half heard Pintel say it. "Imagine 'at. Four demons o' the underworld. Y'think we slipped somewhere in takin' care o' our immortal souls?"

But Elizabeth just lay there, transfixed, especially when the creature howled a deep, keening bay and drew its clawed paws high over its head, ready to bring them down upon the noblewoman. She just couldn't react, couldn't think, couldn't move. Instead, Elizabeth just kept gazing up with wide eyes at the demon.

"Will..."


	11. Cry Wolf

RED SKY

Horse hooves.

It took Will a moment to recognize where he had heard those sounds before, and, then, he felt like such an idiot. The plodding of unshod hooves had been such a mundane sound about the smith shop that Will couldn't place it away from the shop.

He glanced to Barbossa. "It's calvary."

"Are you sure?" the captain asked curiously.

Will nodded. "It's horses. I'm sure of it. I know the sound of hooves anywhere." He thought on the demons. "Must have set their dogs on us."

Barbossa gave a small nod of his head, acknowledging Will's intelligence on the matter and contemplating the thought in regards to his next course of action. "Gather tight and hold the ranks."

"Get close and stay that way!"

The crewmen balled up close against one another, pressing their backs against each other. They held a tight circle, blades and pistols drawn. They trained their pistols on the sounds moving this way and that around them but fired not a shot. The mists had grown so thick and overpowering that not a one could hardly see at all into the depth of the jungles.

The noises stopped all together suddenly.

Barbossa turned to his newly appointed first mate. "An' what d'ye make o' that, now, Mr. Turner?"

"The pieces are all in place; the chessboard set." He sighed a deep, heavy breath, squeezing the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grip. "It looks as though we are in checkmate, Captain."

"Aye, and ye'd be right."

With that, something massive an ebony burst through the fog, moving up to them and sending the pirates scattering and jumping out of the way. It pushed past them, through them. Will leapt just out of the way, rolling as soon as he hit the ground to catch a glimpse of the thing, but the mists swallowed the black thing up before Will could ever even see the tiniest bit of it. It didn't matter, though, Turner already knew what it would be. A giant of a horse, tall and heavy.

Will turned to the men, seeing that one of them had already vanished into thin air. "Regroup! Stay together!"

But, to his and Barbossa's utter horror, the pirates gave each other quick glances and bolted into the mist and the darkness of night its self. Will tried to call out, but Barbossa grabbed him sharply and pulled the younger man down and into the undergrowth, clamping a hand over the blacksmith's mouth. Barbossa pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his first mate. Sure enough, the hoofbeats rushed off, as whatever giants of horses were there gave chase of the others from the landing party.

"They chose to disobey; they'll be gettin' their own fate," the captain whispered cryptically into Will's ear. He let his hand drop from Turner's mouth. "Stay low."

Will furrowed his eyebrows. "But, they've all past."

Barbossa shook his head as a rather macabre little grin formed on his face; the pirate lifted a finger and pointed into the white of the mists. "All but one."

xxxx

Elizabeth prepared for the blow, but it never came. She felt the frightening rush of wind as those paws came down to finish the job, but they stopped just short of her face and skull. The woman looked up as the beast pulled away it's paws, standing strangely at the ready. It cocked its head to one side, in an almost curious gesture in regards to the woman beneath it.

The noblewoman had a moment to actually stare at the thing standing above her. It had such grand, exaggerated features, such massive paws. It's mane held a slight curl in the long locks. Such large, broad shoulders stemmed into such thing arms, leading down to that fur. Thick furred paws stood soundly upon the deck on this one, while padding the soft, barely audible motions of the other three. Leopard spots dappled those deeply tan limbs. Bones and feathers hung from tethers bound about the arms are legs.

Her face softened slightly. "What do you want from us?"

The creature leaned close to her face; Elizabeth turned her cheek away from it. Hot breath bore down upon her cheek as it puffed upon her, sniffing at her. It drew in her scent, studying her. The gold face moved down, over her neck, still breathing heavily and intently down on her. When the face reached just above her bosom, Elizabeth instinctively reached out and slapped it harshly, feeling her hand sting upon contact. The beast just snarled in her face and brandished its taloned paws.

The woman jumped. "What do you want?"

"Ah, beggin' yer pardon, Miss, but I'd let it do what it wanted if ye know whas good for ye," Ragetti suggested in a stammering voice.

The demons called out strange barks and growls at one another, seemingly arguing with one another. Then, once silence settled among them and the creatures calmed down, the one that threatened Elizabeth reached with a paw towards her corset. This time, the noblewoman fought her instincts, bit her tongue, and stayed her hand. Delicately, the monster pried the parchment with Barbossa's signature loose from the garment.

"Whas that, then, Poppet?"

But Elizabeth couldn't answer. She just stayed still as the monster sniffed at the paper, almost inhaling it. The demon turned to the others and barked again. They grew angry and enraged sounding again, harsher and bitter.

"I don't know, but I don't think it's any good."

xxxx

Will listened carefully.

At first, he heard nothing. Not a thing. The entire island seemed to have gone still and silent as the grave. Will hoped it wouldn't be an omen of ill fortune. However, upon hearing the screams start, one at a time, crying out in the darkness of the night in terror, the blacksmith knew it was.

"We have to help them," Turner whispered.

Barbossa shook his head slightly, keeping as silent as possible. "No. That thing is still out there."

"Why didn't you kill it when you had the chance?" Will breathed,

The pirate captain looked down. "I'm not sure if these be gods, demons, or man. Killing a god or a demon might, jus' might come back on ye."

Another scream pierced the night.

Will trembled with rage. "We can't just let them be massacred out there." He glared at Barbossa. "I won't let it." He reached back and struck Barbossa sharply with the basket of his cutlass, knocking the captain back and away from him. "I can't."

Barbossa reached for him. "Ye don't know what ye're doin' boy!"

However, Will was too fast for him, scrambling out of the pirate's reach and to his feet, bolting after the location of the last scream. The sounds of thick, leather boots followed as Barbossa took off after him. However, behind that, started the worse sound, the thundered of hooves chasing after them and the growls of the chimera. Yet Will just kept running after the cries and pleas for help, his legs stretching out underneath him and clawing at the ground.

Barbossa kept up behind him, cursing under his breath. "No good, sonovawhore."

The hooves grew close in behind Will, and there came a startling fleshing sound of impact. The sounds of those well worn leather boots stopped but the hoofbeats kept up. Will tried to ignore it, hoping Barbossa hadn't been killed so the captain could guide _El Cazador _safely back to Tortuga from this cursed island.

Something small, round, and hard slammed into his back, catching him off guard. Will tripped on a root, falling to the ground. The hooves stopped suddenly from a dead gallop, to a halt. The horse gave a snort of annoyance at being held up and brought around so harshly upon the blacksmith. However, it turned back and stomped harshly upon the ground. It stepped up, bringing those great, ebony, feathered hooves right up to Will's face.

The blacksmith looked up those muscular legs, seeing a huge, black thing. His eyes kept up, to the face hidden beneath long, wavy black mane. Those grand, round, chocolate brown eyes sparkled beneath the black hair, gazing down upon the man at its hooves. A spear, golden and sharp pointed down, following the line of the steed's neck to just below Turner's chin. The weapon led up, to where a chimera, just like the one that had leapt from the trees upon him, sat. Only this one bore black tiger strips as opposed to leopard spots.

"We come in peace?" Will offered.

The creature astride the great black horse turned its head at him, gazed down with almost nonexistent eyes.

The blacksmith held up his hands. "Please, I mean you no harm." His eyes scanned about, searching for something to use to his advantage as he cautiously took to his feet. Will crouched there for a moment, staring up curiously. "I won't hurt you."

A whole howl, distant and far away cried out; the chimera turned its gaze away from it's seeming captive. Will took his chance at that moment, reaching out and fiercely grabbing the spear. He gave a harsh tug and twist on the spear, dragging the chimera from the back of the midnight black horse and throwing it to the ground. The beast snarled but refused to give up its hold on the weapon. The chimera swung hard with its own grip, almost tossing Will to the side, but he held strong.

"No!"

Will couldn't tell what Barbossa shouted, or why he had, but the harsh smack on the back of his skull taught him better to listen to his captain. Especially when darkness encroached, creeping into his vision and swallowing it whole.

The last thing Will remembered was Elizabeth, on _El Cazador_, waiting for him.

"Elizabe..."


	12. Star Crossed

RED SKY

Her face had been so beautiful that day, despite the concern and worry wrought in her every feature. Her golden locks hung damp and mussed. But, still, she held such elegance, such refined poise in her slightly pointed features. Her hands, delicate and expressive, held him as close as she could.

"If it weren't for these bars, I'd have you already..."

Will couldn't help but smile at that.

"Will..."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Elizabeth?"

"Will..."

His fiance melted away, leaving a darkness and thick and overwhelming as the void its self. Will drew in a sharp, icy cold breath, surprised by the chill in the air. Gooseflesh broke out across his skin. The blacksmith shivered, feeling his blood run cold as ice, running in and down his spine.

"ELIZABETH!"

It surprised him when his voice echoed.

However, in the pitch, Elizabeth's soft voice met his ears as her hands found him again and held her fiance in a gentle embrace. "Shhh... please not so loud, Will."

He leaned in close to her, smelling her light, almost floral scent, despite so long at sea. Will felt his lips curl at it. Despite having fought the kraken, battled cursed pirates, and survived the sinking of a ship, Elizabeth still managed to maintain her lady-like charms and graces. It remained an endearing quality to his fiance, and a more than welcome scent after being used to the hideous odor of pirates and old, stale rum.

"I told ye, ye shouldn't have run," Barbossa said bitterly from somewhere amid the shadows enshrouding them.

Will shook his aching head. "I have learnt my lesson, Captain."

He looked about and saw not a source of light anywhere around them. Nothing. The blacksmith couldn't see anything in the midst of all that. He wondered how large of a place they were in, and what exactly it was.

Barbossa spoke softly, daring not to raise his voice too loud, yet it still echoed heavily, reverberating against what sounded like solid stone. "Does this make everyone accounted for, 'en?"

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs replied from somewhere in the void.

The pirate captain sighed. "Well, 'en, at least we're all in this together."

Will laughed slightly. "Do we know where _this _is?"

"Small cell, approximately 12 feet around, with a thick metal door. Judgin' by the sound o' it, we're below ground in a dungeon of some sort," Mr. Gibbs answered rather matter-of-factly.

Before anyone could say another word, the the cell door swung open, revealing the silhouette of one of the chimera standing there, holding its gold spear and lit by an almost ethereal blue-white lantern, the likes of which Will had never seen. The crewmen jumped back, all but Mr. Gibbs, Will, Barbossa and Elizabeth. They, instead, stood their ground, where they sat upon the cold, damp stone floor. The four just got to their feet and dusted themselves off, trying to be proud, strong, but non-threatening.

The chimera stepped aside.

A small child, wrapped in white cloth, with silvery white hair stepped forward. She had the softest of features, slightly rounded. Most of her hair had been lopped off save the long braid building at her forehead and running over her head and down to the back of her neck. From there, the braid loosed to a straight ponytail. Her dress hung down to just above her bare feet, plain and simple, unadorned.

Elizabeth was the first to speak. "Hello there..."

The girl stepped up to the woman who addressed her. She gave a slight bow and placed a silver charm around the noblewoman's neck. Then, she approached each of the three men and did the same thing. The girl stepped back and away from them, bowing slightly at the door. Then, she gestured to them with a beckoning hand to follow her but refused to say a single word.

Will looked to Barbossa, who just shrugged. "I suppose we follow her."

They stepped hesitantly from the cell, ready to jump back in if they had to. However, the chimera stopped them before the pirates could ever retreat into the darkness, slamming it shut. It gestured with a thrust of its paws for them to follow the young girl, who couldn't have been much older then ten or twelve. It barked at them, this chimera with its tiger stripes, the same one that had come after Will.

"Wait..." the blacksmith called to the girl. "What about the rest of the crew?"

The girl did not give any response whatsoever. Instead, she just kept walking, leading them up a long, narrow hallway with curved ceilings, up to a spiraling stone staircase. They climbed for what seemed like ages, up and up, until sunlight breeched the shaft, first as a pale glow, revealing the smoothly worn steps beneath their feet to be a creamy stone. As it grew bright with a half turn of the stairs, the crew gasped at the intricate carvings of flowers and leaves covering the walls. Another half turn, and sunlight poured over them, warm and welcoming.

Elizabeth smiled to herself as the staircase opened up to a grand veranda, complete with arbors of sturdy, cedar like wood overhead. Bunches of wisteria overflowed from the arbor in thick, fragrant purple clumps. Elizabeth wanted to reach out to touch one, but her hand soon fell away.

"Oh, my goodness..."

The view took her breath away. The veranda overlooked a giant chasm into which a waterfall spilt in cascading sheets. A faint mist rose up, forming a dainty, neat little rainbow in the middle. Down at the base, a tiny pool ran into a thin creek. Flowers bloomed everywhere around them. And overhead spread a rich, blue, cloudless Caribbean sky.

Elizabeth drew in a breath. When she turned to see if the beast had followed them into the light, it had vanished into the shadows of the spiral staircase. The girl lilted to her and gave a slight tug on the woman's hand, begging her to keep moving. They walked back into the darkness of a vast hall carved into the rock its self until it opened up into a huge shaft.

Suddenly, William Turner had never felt so utterly vile and loathsome in his entire life. He had also never felt so judged in his entire life, as they stepped up the alabaster stairs, to the creamy white throne. Sunlight poured down from above, forming a solid, piercing shaft of light. White doves flew this way and that, almost dancing upon the wing around them. This felt a holy place.

And she, sitting upon the throne, appeared a holy creature. She was bathed in the purest of sunlight, the beams almost seeming to radiate from off of her skin. Her tanned body sat, reclined in a naturally regal way. Her eyes were closed, but, judging by the darkness of her hair and her skin, they would be black, would she open them. Her robes, white and pure as the snow, seemed to reflect the light in an almost blinding way. A white diamond sparkled from where it set upon her third eye. A thin, silver tiara of sorts, but more like a tiny chain, held the glittering jewel in place. She sat, silently, her hand her out over a bowl of white sand, forever drawing up a tiny pinch of the powder, bringing it up, and letting it slip between her fingertips. The act looked fluid, practiced, and utterly unnerving.

What else could they do but pay their homage? Barbossa stepped forward, took off his large, feathered hat, and took to a knee, bowing before the throne. Elizabeth followed suit, as did William and Gibbs. They touched their heads to the floor, unsure of what to do next.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth caught movement. Those beasts, the chimera, poured into the room, filing in as a row. They stood, silently ringing the room. All bore leopard spots except for one, who approached the woman in white and knelt in a human like manner.

Now, looking closer, Elizabeth was almost certain that, underneath that, the chimera were at least part human. At least their bodies were human. They were lithe but atheletic, clad in leather armoring. Their paws curled and uncurled, like a hand in a glove, under all that fur. Elizabeth grew curious. She turned her head slightly to see that those gleaming gold faces were locked in a constantly snarling and growling visages. They were masks.

She drew in a breath, but stifled in under a glare from Barbossa.

The creature with the tiger stripes made a small motion with its left paw and pulled the parchment from nowhere and held it before the woman in white. The woman opened her dark, chocolate brown eyes, regarding the note, gave a small nod of her head, whispering something that the pirates could not hear.

The beast presented the parchment to Barbossa and laid it on the alabaster floor beneath them. It stepped away and returned to the woman at the throne, bending a golden ear to the regal looking woman. This poised, almost angelic creature looked down upon them, and moved her lips, as if speaking, but made not a sound. The chimera nodded.

"Why have you come here without your charge, Barbossa?" the chimera demanding in a startlingly authoritative and feminine voice.

The man smiled coyly. '"I have some seeking a small aid to my task." He bowed his head lower, holding out his open palms to the woman in white, showing his humility before her, something Will had never seen out of Barbossa. "One which only her grace can grant me."

The tiger-striped demon looked to the woman upon her alabaster throne and spoke only once this seeming master gave the merest of nods. "And what is that?"

"Jack Sparrow."

The demon lifted its mask. The face underneath was elegant and strong, with slightly pointed features. It was an almost catlike face, with eyes as black as night, and flowing ebony hair to match those tiger stripes and blend with the mane. It was a woman, fierce and proud by the looks of it, determined and set. This woman stood as a rock against the wind, unyielding. However, she didn't seem that old, perhaps even Elizabeth's age, if that.

The tiger woman glanced to the lady in white before speaking again. "It is only her right to grant such things, and with only her blessing. You have it not."

Barbossa shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Your request is denied."


	13. Poker Face

RED SKY

"Denied?" the word fell flatly from Barbossa's lips. "Denied?"

The tiger striped woman shifted her weight on the balls of her feet, holding her spear closer. "Aye. Your request has been denied by the warden of this island."

"But, why?" he blurted out.

"You have not earned that right."

A blank look washed over the pirate captain as the color drained from his face. He just sat there for a moment, his eyes wide. The man's mouth hung open in a slightly "o," as if ready to argue. But, how could he argue against this woman who held the power to transfix even the greatest of armies? How could Barbossa ever stand against she who had given him so much?

He didn't have to; Will did it for him, jumping to his feet. "Then, I request it."

The woman upon her throne let her gaze drift to meet William's eyes, rather than shooting directly to him. It unsettled the blacksmith, as though this woman had known was he would do, had prepared for it. The regal being studied him for a moment, taking in his visage. Will wished for a moment he had worn something better, or at least cleaned up, for he felt as though royalty were surveying him at that moment. No, beyond royalty. Divinity. It rattled his nerves to think such things.

The man took a few hasty steps forward and threw himself at the feet of the woman upon her throne. "Please. I would give you anything I could to get him back."

The tiger warrior chortled slightly.

However, the woman did not immediately respond; instead, she sat a moment, contemplating the situation, and, then, stood. Will looked up, half-expecting the lady to step aside and allow her warrior to slit his throat. But that didn't happen.

Her voice, however, sang in his ears with all the familiarity of his own mother's lullabies, as though Will had always heard this woman speaking into his ear so delicately. She spoke softly and sweetly. Her words seemed a gossamer thing that, once heard, fluttered apart and puffed into nothingness. However, her voice held the power to command the authority of even the angels in heaven.

"It has been quite some time that living mortal men have dared set foot upon my island. Why did you come?"

Will shrugged his shoulders. "To get Jack back."

The woman knelt before him, her eyes meeting his at level. "Who sent you?"

"Your brother at the World's End. He gave us the coin and the instructions to come to you if he needed Jack so badly." Upon hearing the story from his own lips, it did sound rather daunting.

The strange woman whisked around on the balls of her feet. "Count carefully the souls and see that none are lost. That is our task." She glanced over her shoulder, giving a pointed look right to Will. "Including your soul." The woman sat very suddenly, abruptly, plopping her weight down into the creamy, white throne. "So, you have come to claim the soul of Captain Jack Sparrow?" Will nodded. "I must think on this."

The woman rose and strode down the steps of the throne, moving around it and down what had to be some sort of steps behind the great stone carving, leaving those four alone with the tiger lady.

Gibbs looked to Elizabeth as they sat up from their deep bowing position. "Why d'ye think they chose us?"

The woman thought back on Tia Dalma's words. "We didn't let them see our fear."

"Ah..."

They all looked to the warrior before them as it took up residence crouched at the foot of the throne. With all the fur and the claws, at that posture, the beastly visage looked more like some strange hunting pet. The female warrior cocked her head to one side and stared upon the intruders intently. She ran one set of golden claws across the stone at her feet, just loud enough to create an almost slithering hiss.

Elizabeth crawled to her fiance and placed a hand upon his shoulder, making him jump with surprise. "What just happened?"

"Weren't you listening?" Will retorted.

His fiance bit her lip for a moment and nodded. "Yes, but I didn't hear anything. Just you. What was going on?"

Will just shook his head. "I'm not sure."

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. "Well, what did she say?"

The warrior spoke, interjecting before the blacksmith could answer. "My lady has gone to meditate on these matters." She closed her eyes slowly. "Her word is law, and her word is infallible."

The warrior said nothing else beyond that, remaining as rigid and stolid as the rock beneath their feet. She didn't even move or flinch save to blink and breathe for the next few hours while they waited. The warrior didn't even pause from her guard post when four young girls entered, all dressed in white like the first one who had led the pirates to the great atrium. The children bore curling glass vessels of the coolest, freshest spring water. The pirates sat, Barbossa and Gibbs lounging on the slightly warmed alabaster floor.

Every now and again, one of them would try to strike up a conversation, but that quickly fell aside as they stumbled over politeness. Elizabeth smirked to herself, remembering her manners and etiquette that her father had found to be so important to her graces. She wondered what her father would have thought of her then and there, sitting on the floor, cross-legged, dressed in a man's pants and shirt, wearing only the vestige of her proper clothes with that one corset. How he would have blushed and had to fan himself with his hat.

Will strode about as much of the atrium as he dared with the chimera like warrior standing guard. He has seen for himself just how violent and powerful this beautiful beast could be, and, with Elizabeth there, and without any weapons, Turner could not dare make a move that could be seen as threatening. Thus, the blacksmith just strode in slow arcs, moving back and forth across one curve of the atrium's rounded walls. His eyes followed the carvings in the alabaster, studying them intently.

Here and there, in the scrolled outlines of leaves and flowers, Will spied small vignettes of the warriors on horseback, dressed as the chimeras of greek mythology. They drew spears and swords to all manner of invaders, from what looked like barbarian hordes. They looked like everything from the cannibals that had once tried to eat Jack to Roman calvary. In the more recent and fresh looking cuts, Will saw Spanish conquistadors fall under the knife and spear of these strange warriors.

Soon, the chamber began to grow dim. Will had to give up his studies. Dusk had to be settling in. Sunset came quickly on that little island, or so it seemed. Overhead, the sky blazed a rich red, almost crimson.

Mr. Gibbs gave a chuckle. "Red sky at night..."

"Sailor's delight," their captain finished.

"My name is Elizabeth Swann," the noblewoman introduced herself cordially. "Elizabeth." The woman placed a hand upon her chest. "It means 'Consecrated to God.'" Elizabeth looked to the warrior curiously. "What is your name?"

"I am called Signy."

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. "What sort of a name is that?"

"It means 'New Victory.'" The warrior leveled a stern gaze upon the woman before her. "What sort of a name is Elizabeth Swann?"

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue. It was at that moment that the warrior struck the base of her spear upon the floor soundly, sending a great knock echoing in the atrium. The weary, hungry, and all together stir crazy pirates jumped to their feet, clasped their hands, and bowed their heads out of instinctive respect for the woman in white as she entered the room again and stood before them just in front of her throne. With a sweep of her hand, smooth and elegant, they knew it was alright for them to look up again.

The woman gave a small, shifting glance to her warrior, what had been steadily been seeming more and more like her right hand and advisor. The woman in white parted her lips just a crack and let a breath out, but not a sound.

The warrior looked to the pirates before her. "Your request has been seen."

Barbossa bowed low and deeply to this lady before him, the woman who held him so tightly by some unspoken threat and authority. "And her verdict?"

"She will grant this request, but under one condition."

The captain nodded. "And that request is?"

"You have a previous accord with the warden of this island, Captain Barbossa. You cannot offer anything in regards to this." The warrior pointed the golden tip of her spear at Will. "However, you do."

Will shook. "And that is?"

"Your life."

Barbossa looked down upon the floor at their feet. "I guess ye know the truth now, 'en, Mr. Turner." He gave a subtle laugh, shrugging his shoulder and shaking his head in exasperation. "Now, little Miss Swann, ye know my big secret, the reason why ye an' everyone else in the crew could never trust me this whole time."

"What?" Elizabeth gasped.

Barbossa smiled at her, as if in jest. "I know ye probably tried to read my contract." He looked back to the woman. "It matters not. Y'wouldn't have been able to read it, anyway." He sighed. "It states that my life belongs to the soul warden alone, until such time as I complete m' task for 'er." The older man looked to his first mate. "And, now, it seems she has such a bargain for ye in exchange for Jack Sparrow."

Will swallowed. "I accept."

"Will!" his fiance gasped.

"NO!" Anger flashed through him at the thought of her selfishness after what he had seen her kissing Jack. The blacksmith just stepped forward and bowed before the woman in white. "I give my life for his."

Will looked up into her eyes, into those deep, chocolate brown spheres. In her eyes, he found solace, found refuge. In her gaze, Will saw eternity. And, then, he knew her, remembered her. It was as if this woman in white had been there for him his whole life. She had been there when he was born. She watched as he first encountered Jack Sparrow in the shop. She climbed the great spider web of ropes above the deck of the _Black Pearl_, moving with him as Will set the trap for the kraken, that terrible monster. This woman had been with him his entire life, known him for his entire life. Somewhere, deep down inside, Will felt he both loved and feared her at the same time.

And she spoke to him again, in words Will knew only he could hear. "You know what she did; you saw her."

"Aye," Will looked down at the woman's tanned, bare feet.

"You saw her with him," the woman crooned in his ear. "And, still you wish to free Jack Sparrow's soul from death's embrace?"

The blacksmith again replied with the simple, "Aye."

"Then, why?" the lady asked.

Will shook his head. "I cannot say."

"You cannot say in front of them?" the woman knowingly inquired.

"Aye."

The woman stepped away from him, gesturing for the blacksmith to join her. He looked up, unsure, but, again, the woman bade him to follow her. The man looked to his captain, who nodded hurriedly, as if not to keep this angelic creature waiting. Will climbed to his feet slowly and walked behind her.

"Will!" Elizabeth cried out.

He looked to her, with a strange sort of sadness in his eyes, something Elizabeth had never seen in her fiance ever. She shook her head. The woman had only ever seen anything that look once before in her life, that stoniness. The only thing similar had been when the woman climbed down from the _Black Pearl _into the longboat after she had left Jack shackled to the mast.

Barbossa grabbed her before Elizabeth could give any sense of a chase. "No, no! Ye'll ruin everything!"

She slapped him harshly and tried to break free when Will just turned and followed the woman around the throne and away from her. "No!" Tears welled up in her eyes as Elizabeth begged for him to release her, "Please, you can't let him give his life for Jack!" Elizabeth struggled and wriggled in his grip as Will disappeared behind the great throne. "No! Will!"

"Miss Swann!" Barbossa shook her. "No!"

Elizabeth fell in a crumpled heap at his feet, shaking. "I can't let him do this."

"Elizabeth!" the captain shouted, right in her face.

It shocked her. Barbossa had never called the noblewoman by her first name. It was as if he had always allowed some distance to remain between them by never calling her Elizabeth.

"Barbossa..."

"Don't ye understand, Miss Swann? Don't ye understand yet?" Barbossa held her tight. "Don't ye understand that has the power she has? The warden can kill us all just as soon as she looks at us!"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't let him do this. I can't. I have to help him!"

"Ye can't."


	14. Aria

RED SKY

Her quarters were small and spartan, with little adornment. They were dark, embedded deep in the rock. But, with a subtle flick of her wrist, all of the pale, blue-white lanterns lit at once, illuminating the room. The ways were lined with bookshelves filled with ancient, leather bound tomes and scrolls. There sat a long, stone table cluttered with an open book, ink, feather pens, jars, bowls, and cut herbs. Way off the side, in a niche, sat a bed that looked rather cozy.

She bad him to sat at the table and took to grinding something sweet smelling with a mortar and pestle. "What did you see that day?"

Will let out a deep, tired breath. "I saw her, kissing him."

"And how did you feel?" the woman inquired.

The blacksmith looked upon her sharply. "Betrayed."

The lady in white added some oddly acrid power to the mortar and continued to grind away while asking, "And you are so prepared to give your life for Jack Sparrow, the man who you believe to have relations with your betrothed?"

"Aye."

The lady paused from her work and placed a hand upon his shoulder. "Then why do you wish to give your life for his?"

Will shrugged. "I don't know." However, she refused to life her gaze, knowingly staring upon him. "I suppose, I just want her to be happy." The blacksmith looked away, to the dried flowers on the table. "I love to see her smile. It's so warm. Sometimes, she smiles so much her whole face smiles with her." Will shook his head. "He makes her smile like that sometimes."

"Are you jealous?" the woman sang in his ear.

Will nodded. "A bit." He poked at one of the flowers. "But, I just want her to be happy. If Jack is truly who she loves, then she should be with him."

The lady in white smiled warmly upon him. "Then, you have earned it."

"What? How?"

The lady added some red water to the mix and stirred it. "Count carefully the souls and see that none are lost. That has been my charge." She cut her finger and let a drop of crimson blood mix in before presenting him with the white handled knife. "If you agree to serve me for one task, I shall grant you the soul of Jack Sparrow."

"Aye." Will took the blade and sliced through his upper arm, allowing the hot and cold oath of the dagger and dripping the cut over the mortar. "I agree."

The woman took a piece of parchment, exactly like the one that the warrior had returned to Barbossa. A contract. Only this one had not been signed. She mixed the blood and dipped a quill. With the quickest of motions, the lady signed to the left. Then, she handed the white feather to the blacksmith and pointed to the line to the right of where she had signed.

"Then, make your mark here if you do so agree to this," the woman instructed.

Will drew a deep breath, half expecting the air to be dripped right from him upon finishing his own name, but nothing happened. She took the quill from him and took his hand in hers. The lady dipped his right thumb in the liquid and had him stamp his print in between their names upon the contract. Will watched curiously as the black ink through the contract ran red as the blood he had signed in. Deftly, the strange creature plied at the parchment, and it split into two pages, two copies. The woman rolled the two and tied them with red ribbon. One copy, the angelic lady in white set aside, while the other she handed to the blacksmith.

"That's it?" He asked.

The woman smiled warmly and radiantly upon him. "It is always easy to sign one's life away. To actually give it away is another thing entirely." She pressed her hand against his, and, when the woman pulled it away, a black tattoo of a clawed and serenely faced heart upon the back of his hand. "Present this to Sygne and she will show you the way."

"What about my task?" Will questioned.

"All will be revealed after you retrieve the soul you requested."

xxxx

Elizabeth sat, numb, chewing on her nail. She rushed to Will, but he held up his hands, as if telling her to keep back and away from him. He looked distant and disturbed, as if he had fallen away from her somehow.

"Will?" the noblewoman whispered.

He shook his head, and Barbossa spoke for him. "No. Not until his work is done."

Will stepped forward to the warrior with the tiger stripes, to this Sygne. She nodded low and deep, as if as much of a bow the warrior could allow and maintain her self respect. The warrior turned on the balls of her feet and turned to the other side of the throne, with Will striding just behind her, down another spiraling staircase, down into the depths and bowels of the keep.

Elizabeth stepped lightly behind him, wondering just where Sygne led him. Barbossa and Gibbs just shrugged and rushed after her down the steps. Down, down and down they spiraled into the dark and out into a deep shaft. Only the palest of light pierced the hole. A mist fell upon them. Elizabeth looked up and saw that this was the pool at the base of that great pit. The waterfall thundered down one side of the cliff, feeding the pool, creating the mist, and watering the green, springy moss at their feet upon the rocks.

Elizabeth stepped daintily across the moss covered rocks, slippery and wet, noticing that the pool its self had been shaped and smooth by ages of work and skilled trades people. The scrolled carves danced and twirled beneath her feet even there.

A deep pool, round and perfect, opened before them.

Sygne moved to the edge of the pool, to where the waters lapped at her feet. She gazed out into the well, unmoving for a moment. The depths of her eyes looked as deep as the waters of the well. The fur to Sygne's mask, paws and feet fluttered with the breeze. She looked to Will and motioned for him to join her.

Sygne pointed down and into the water, touching it lightly; the waters grew still and glassy, like a mirror. Yet, when the blacksmith peered into them, he saw not the rocky base of the well, it seemed like the depths went on forever and forever, running deep into the ground and the rock. Will stared harder into the waters and saw not his own reflection, but that of Jack Sparrow, looking as placid and calm as if locked in eternal slumber.

Will looked to the warrior. "Is that really Jack?"

"But of course," the warrior replied. "Who would you expect it to be?"

The blacksmith shook his head. "Is he dead?"

"As dead can be," Sygne chirped. "But not for long if you do enter into Hel's portion of the contract."

Will nodded. "What do I do?"

The warrior grinned from ear to ear, suddenly no longer as emotionless as before. Instead, Sygne seemed completely and thoroughly amused with the entire situation. Her delight sparkled in those dark eyes of hers, twinkling with a hint of glee. The woman's gaze shifted between Will and the pool.

"You bring him out."

He looked to the tiger woman at his side. "I just take him from there."

"It sounds simple, does it not?" Sygne teased. "But these waters, for how still they may seem run deep and treacherous. The stillness betrays what lies beneath the surface, beneath the visage of peace and perfection." The warrior pointed at Will and, then, to the waters, which returned to their gentle waving. "Much like the human spirit its self."

Will nodded, steeling himself. He stood, taking off his boots and setting them aside. Distantly, he heard Elizabeth calling out to him, but her words were lost to him. His fiance sounded as though she spoke underwater. Everything, every minute sound fell away and grew soft. Only the gurgling and babbling of the water passing against the rock and the edge of the pool got through to Will. Elizabeth grew louder, but it was too late. Will had already sprung at the pool, diving in head first.

"WILL!"

The blacksmith plunged into the water, feeling the sudden blast of an icy chill upon him, as cold and bitter as winter in London. It took the breath from him, but Will ignored that. Instead, he focused on getting his muscles to work, to move for him as he clawed at the water with his arms.

Down, down, he swam, into darkness.

xxxx

"Will..." Elizabeth cried the word, suddenly so very terrified for him.

Barbossa shook his head slowly. "No, ye cannot help him with this anymore than ye can help a bird t' fly."

She trembled and looked to Sygne, to the wild woman. "He's not coming back, is he?" The beast-like lady just stared into the pool below her. "Is he?"

Sygne watched the waters intently. "He has to bring back the soul of Jack Sparrow."

"Why him?"

The warrior stood now, tall and proud. She seemed a dreadful thing to encounter under the wrong circumstances. Her body had been elegantly striped as the tiger its self. Those black bands and lines curled around her limbs, over the knotted muscles. Sygne had a savage beauty and pride to herself, like a lioness. No, like the tiger this woman seemed to emulate so very much. She seemed annoyed at these questions and interrogation of Elizabeth's.

"Because it is the price of the pact he has made."

Barbossa looked deep into Elizabeth's eyes and saw something there, something hidden, a secret, one the woman never dared reveal. "What did you do?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Elizabeth denied.

The captain shook his head. "No, no. I been captaining pirates for some time now. I know the look in yer face. I know ye''re thinking about somethin' ye did." He gripped her upper arm, giving it a light squeeze. "What did ye do, Elizabeth?"

"Enough!"

xxxx

There came a time when no light penetrated as deep as Will had swam. His lungs burnt as the blacksmith knew his air was running down. However, there seemed to be nothing down there. Not anything. Not even fish or swimming creatures. And, still, he pushed onward, forever downward, it seemed. The pressure mounted in his ears, disorienting the man.

Then, he saw it, that same figure. Jack Sparrow. He looked drowned, with his even his braids and beaded hair flowing in the water. The pirate's eyes were closed, as if in sleep. Will had never seen Jack so still before, so peaceful. However, as his lungs contracted, Will knew his time had run out. He curled a strong arm around Sparrow's waist and began to swim.

A sudden current swirled about them, threatening to drag the two men back to the bottom. Will kicked out, scrambling through the water for the small circle of light above them. He struggled against the current, swimming as fast as his legs could take him. But Jack was so heavy and cumbersome. The current seemed to take hold of the pirate's limp body and suck him down, as if by a conscious thought and effort of the water.

Will shook his head. Not then. Not after they'd come so far, given so much.

xxxx

"Enough already."

Barbossa just stared at her, incredulously. The woman just swayed there, unhinged, enraged. The pirate captain wasn't entirely sure what nerve he hit, but whatever it was, it threw Elizabeth into a tizzy. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she could no longer hold them back.

"Elizabeth... what did ye do?" Barbossa asked again, more softly this time.

She shook her head. "I did what I had to do to same Will and the others." Elizabeth blinked away as many of the tears as she could. "I had to." The woman roughly wiped her face. "I left him there." The glared at Barbossa. "I left him for the kraken."

"Y'did what?" Gibbs demanded.

Elizabeth spun around. "I did what was needed to save you, Will, and the rest of the crew." She shook before continuing, "It only wanted him." Elizabeth looked down to the ground, suddenly so very ashamed of herself, just as she had been in Tia Dalma's home. "The kraken only wanted Jack."

"How could ye?" Mr. Gibbs almost spat the words at her.

The captain's face softened at Elizabeth. "Y'did what any responsible captain would do." He put an arm around her. "Y'did good by the code, Elizabeth."

She shrugged his arm off. 'It's Miss Swann."

xxxx

Jack slipped through the blacksmith's hold, dragged back downward. However, Will moved too fast, reaching out and grasping the pirate by the wrist, hauling him up and out of the queer vortex for a second before being sucked in himself, just as his air gave out.

"Jack..."


	15. Wellwisher

RED SKY

They stood on the water itself, over the reef. Below their feet, bright plates of coral bloomed and spread, like flowers in the field. Splashes of red, green, purple, and orange skeletons of the coral flared out in great, mushroom like growths. Anemones swayed gently in the current. Fish darted this way and that in bright, colorful schools.

They were in the middle of the ocean, with not an island in sight, but, still, their feet, bare and cool, found purchase and solid ground on the top of the still, frightfully still water its self.

Will glanced about, to the sea, to the sky, and to the person before him. Jack Sparrow had always been a spirited person, lilting and swaggering this way and that. His voice would sing and run circles around people with a swift, dancing pace. His hands would swish and twirl, gesturing wildly and madly through the air as the pirate captain spoke.

This was not that Jack Sparrow.

This Jack Sparrow stood perfectly still.

"Jack..."

The captain did not answer him.

Will called again softly, almost afraid of what the man before him would say. The blacksmith had gone to the underworld to find this one man and drag him back and away from it. Or, perhaps the whirlpool had sucked him down and into the void with Jack. Perhaps the lady in white had gone back on her promise. At any rate, Jack Sparrow had seen into the void and the nothingness had stared back into him. Who knew exactly what the pirate would say and what it would mean.

"Jack?"

Again, his friend did not respond.

Will began to wonder if Jack could hear him. This was the essence of Jack Sparrow and not necessarily a living version of him. The man wasn't sure how it worked to bring someone back from the dead. Will didn't know what the process was.

He reached out and touched Jack's cold, lifeless hand. "Jack?"

Jack's eyes flashed open, white and dead as the grave its self. "She killed me, Will."

"What?" Will blurted out.

But the waters beneath their feet had grown liquid again, waving and splashing. The two plummeted down and into the reef beneath their feet, to Davy Jones' Locker.

xxxx

The warrior rocked back and forth.

"Can you see him?" Elizabeth fearfully whispered, her voice but a husky breath as she knelt beside the demon like creature.

Sygne looked friendly upon her. "Only one who has seen their death can see into the waters." The warrior smirked coyly. "He will be back, and with Jack Sparrow." She returned her steady,unwavering gaze upon the pool at her feet. "Will Turner is a determined man. He will not falter."

xxxx

"Ho... how could... how could she?" Gibbs stammered.

Barbossa shook his head solemnly, wringing his hands glumly. "Eli-" The pirate captain stopped and corrected himself, saying, "Miss Swann did what was necessary to save ye and her crew. She did what any captain would 'ave t' do." He looked at her, sitting beside the crouching beast at the water's edge. "In the same place, I could nary say I wouldn'ta done the same thing."

"In the same place, ye marooned Jack for no bloody good reason," Gibbs argued.

Barbossa held out a fist, ready to strike the man, but steadied himself. "Don't ye ever go sullying yer cap'n's good name." The man steeled his nerves and looked away. "I did what I had t' do for me crew." Barbossa sighed. "I don't expect ye to understand the my motivation."

"Then care to explain it?" Gibbs bitterly snarled, raising an eyebrow.

The captain let out another deep breath. "I had to do it for my for the men. They never did nothing I didn't tell 'em to do." Barbossa watched the warrior still moving and shifting its weight from one foot to the other. "Jack jus' kept draggin' us from one side of the Caribbean to the other, never really puttin' us ahead at all. 'E just kept putting the crew at risk. Something had to be done, and I did it." He shook his head. "I'm not proud about it, but I had to for my boys. I left Jack on that spit o' land because I knew the rum runners would be back for the rum and for Jack later."

"Y'know?" Gibbs asked.

The captain nodded. "Aye." He toyed with a bit of frayed edge to his coat. "And, after we found out about the curse, I had to do anything in my power to make up for it, to save my crew. Y'have ta understand that, Mr. Gibbs." Barbossa still bore no emotions upon his face as they softly spoke. "It is the responsibility of a captain to put 'imself before his crew. Jack didn't always get that one right."

"Don't ye speak so badly o' Jack," Gibbs barked.

"Then, don't ye speak so ill of me."

They both grew quiet for an awkward moment, watching Elizabeth and the warrior both perched on the glistening, moss covered stone. Neither dared move a single muscle, frozen as statues in time. Elizabeth's face held such fear for her fiance, having thrown his life away for Jack Sparrow. Mr. Gibbs had never much understood love, but he understood loyalty. Elizabeth had mutinied and betrayed Jack, all but murdering him with her own two, delicate, lady like hands. But Miss Elizabeth Swann was not, nor had she ever been, the killing type. Gibbs understood what Elizabeth had laid on the line for Will and the others.

"What do we do about her?" the man asked in dejection.

Barbossa hardly flinched. "We let 'er decide." He looked to Gibbs sternly and seriously. "Mr. Turner is not going to be pleased with his bonny lass once 'e finds out about this. It's Miss Swann's place to tell him, not ours."

"So we just ignore the elephant in the room?" the other man teased.

His captain glowered. "No. I'm sayin' Mr. Turner will never believe such stories were they to come from my mouth. He has t' hear it from her."

xxxx

Darkness engulfed them.

And in the darkness, hands reached out, clawing at Will and the body he dragged with him. Sharp nails found purchase on flesh and cloth, tearing and ripping at them. Will almost cried out as one set dug a long scratch upon his arm.

He whirled around and saw them. Corpses. So many of them. Their flesh rotted away at the base off the pool, leaving their skin and muscle falling off of them. Skeletons swayed in the current, moving closer towards Jack and Will. Their hollow, dark eyes stared out accusingly at Will, as if to ask who he was to dare take one of their own. They seemed to be damning the blacksmith just for being alive.

Will kicked out sharply with his legs and swatted at them.

A dead hand curled around the blacksmith's ankle and pulled hard. The live man screamed underwater, desperate to rid himself of the dreadful weight at his foot. Will twisted hard to one side, mindful of Jack. And it was just in the nick of time, too, as long dead hands pulled the pirate into the shadows, trying to haul him away from Will. The man slammed his foot down angrily on the slimy, clammy hand locked upon his other ankle and knocked himself free. He took hold of Jack and swam, push harder and harder for the light above them.

And, then, he saw it.

A hand, pale and perfect, reaching for him, too.

Will clasped it.

xxxx

"Will!"

Elizabeth cried out in joy as Sygne hauled her fiance up from the waters, from nothingness and void its self. The warrior gritted her teeth as she dragged the coughing, gagging Will from the pool and as she helped bring Jack's lifeless body from the waters. Will fell to his knees, spitting up the water and resisting the urge to vomit after what he'd seen himself swimming amidst.

His fiance cared not; she rushed to his side and put her arms around his drenched body. "Oh, Will, I was so worried about you."

"Elizabeth..."

The blacksmith lifted his gaze, seeing the warrior laying out Jack's soaked body. His eyes fell to the pirate's chest, looking for even the merest sign of life within the man he had once called friend. However, Jack Sparrow remained as still and as dead as the grave.

He bit his knuckle. "She lied to me."

Sygne snarled. "Do not be so quick to judge my lady." The warrior smiled to herself, as if lost in thought. "She has never lied, nor shall she ever. It is not within her grace's powers to do so." The warrior smoothed Jack's hair and leaned close, as if to kiss him. Elizabeth felt the blood drain from herself, but the warrior just breathed, "And into him, shall flow the breath of life, as my lady commands."

Jack gasped, gulping in air, his eyes wide with horror. Then, he rolled to the side and grew still for but a moment. Then, just like Will, he spat, purging the waters of this eerie well from his body and lungs.

"Jack!" Will cried out the word, overjoyed. He scrambled to the pirate captain's side, putting a hand on his shoulder and rolling the pirate onto his back. "Jack, you're back." Will's heart leapt when those chocolate brown eyes opened again and focused in on the world. "Jack, you're alive."

However, his heart fell when Jack lolled to another side and stared at Elizabeth.

His words echoed in Will's mind. "She killed me."


	16. Bargain

RED SKY

Heaven smiled down upon them. Elizabeth was sure of it. It had to. She had Will back from the underworld, and he brought Jack back with him. The woman could just simply apologize, welcome Jack back to the land of the living, and be done with the whole thing.

Once Jack settled down, of course.

He seemed distant and stony, quiet, as if he left something behind in the depths of the dark pool. Jack had not said a single, solitary word yet. It was as if the very light had left him. Or, as if he had forgotten it somewhere along the lines. This was not the Jack Elizabeth remembered. It was as if some part of him had been left behind, taken when the _Black Pearl _was taken by the kraken.

The woman tried to ignore that as she looked upon the woman in white again when Sygne spoke for her. "You, William Turner, have agreed to serve my lady in exchange for the soul of Jack Sparrow."

Will gave a terse nod. "Aye."

Sygne looked to her lady, to this woman in white. The graceful, airy creature stepped to Jack Sparrow and held out a waiting hand to her warrior. The tiger-stripe lady reluctantly handed her a dagger. The unknown woman in ivory slashed Jack's arm with a swift, practiced motion, and did the same to Will. She mixed their blood together with a strange, delicate motion. Then, the woman looked intently into Jack's vacant eyes and breathed a deep breath into his nostrils.

Jack jumped, shooting ramrod straight, then fell to his knees. Elizabeth cried out in surprise, but stifled it when the pirate put out a hand. The pirate patted his chest, not looking up. He let out a shocked laugh.

"I'm alive? I'm alive..." Jack laughed again. "Saints and devils be praised, I'm alive!"

Elizabeth's heart fluttered in her chest. "Jack!"

He looked to her, his eyes wide and confused. "Elizabeth?"

Her heart fell, crushing in her chest. He seemed so uncertain, so puzzled by her presence. His eyes moved about, studying the great hall, the warrior, the lady, and falling squarely upon Barbossa, standing in line beside Mr. Gibbs, Elizabeth, and Will Turner.

The pirate gave a half hearted smile. "Did I miss something?"

"A little," Will honestly replied with a shrug.

Slowly, and with a grunt of effort, Jack clambered to his feet and held out a hand to shake the woman in white's. "Cap'n Jack Sparrow, a pleasure to meet ye."

The woman just smirked slightly and gave a brief shake of the head.

"Ah, can't win everyone, luv."

The warrior glared upon Jack, as if exceptionally displeased by his presence there in the great hall. "My lady reminds you, William Turner, that you have agreed to serve her for but one task of her choosing."

Will nodded. "I would never forget."

"Good," Sygne replied. "Captain Barbossa, you are reminded of your own task in the service of my lady."

Barbossa looked to the alabaster floor under his feet. "Aye."

"Jack Sparrow." The pirate jumped at his name, but with the slightly of characteristic swagger and tilt; Sygne looked upon him solemnly. "You are bound to the life of William Turner. You are bound to serve my lady in her task as much as he is."

"I have most certainly missed something," Jack raised an eyebrow. "Will?"

The blacksmith gave a shrug but could not meet his friend's perplexed gaze. "I had to make a deal to save you."

"And what, pray tell, was that previously arranged arrangement?"

Sygne gave a small, forced cough out of politeness, drawing attention back to her. "You shall serve my lady for but one task, the same task as William Turner." The warrior gave a sly grin and pointed the tip of her golden spear upon Barbossa. "The same task that Captain Barbossa has failed to complete."

"What?"

Barbossa gave a bow, failing to respond to his former captain's question. "It will be done, m'lady."

"You have my lady Hel's blessing." Sygne said rather flatly. "My warriors and I shall escort you back to your ship."

"Will," Jack's voice cracked like a whip. "You have some explaining to do."

xxxx

They had been forced from the pale, alabaster temple, down a wooded path, to a small clearing. There, five or six warriors sat astride matching, ebony horses, all massive, drafter type horses. They looked like the sort of things that people only wrote about in fairy tales. The warriors' masks were down, obscuring their faces with the snarling, grotesquely twisted faces of demons.

Sygne pulled her mask down strode up to the only horse not with a rider, took the reins, and leapt upon its bare back. "You follow us now."

Barbossa nodded, and the warriors turned their horses about. The big creatures plodded into the jungle, into the underbrush around them, disappearing into the plants. The warriors soon vanished, all but Sygne with her tiger stripes and golden visage peering out from the pile of inky mane. She clucked under the mask and turned the stallion on a dime, walking him down the trail.

Barbossa, Will, Elizabeth, Gibbs, and the newly resurrected Jack Sparrow followed, ambling down the loam behind her.

Jack finally got the nerve to demand answers from Will. "So, what did I miss, exactly?" He looked to the blacksmith. "I take it I died."

Elizabeth flushed. Did he remember? It didn't sound like it.

"Aye."

Jack gave a tip of his tricorn hat. "And?"

Will shook his head with a small smile, gathering his thoughts. "And, we had to make a deal with her to save you."

"From the dead?" The pirate reiterated.

The blacksmith nodded. "Aye."

Jack stopped for a moment and patted Will on the chest. "I've got a theory." His friend folded his arms across his chest, waiting to hear this one. "Ye, and yer sweet little Miss Elizabeth got me all drunk at yer wedding, got all these sods together, and are playin' a right nasty trick on Ol' Jack." Will almost burst out laughing. "Am I right, or am I right?"

Barbossa turned and glared. "No, ye're not right, Jack. Ye never were." He pointed to the horse, which had rather quickly put distance between them. "Now, can we please keep a move on if we ever wish to see civilization ever again?"

"And that's another thing!" Jack cried out as they continued down the island, through the twilight. "What in the world is m' ol' mutinous first mate doing here?"

"Captainin' MY vessel!" Barbossa growled.

"Yer vessel!" Sparrow scoffed. "I'll 'ave ye know the _Black Pearl _has and will always by my ship." The pirate folded his arms across his chest, looking rather proud and defiant to the very end. "Ye can never have 'er back ever again."

The elder just chuckled to himself. "_Pearl_'s shark bait, Jack."

Sparrow's face fell. "What happened?"

"Davy Jones set his kraken on her. It took the _Pearl _down," Elizabeth breathed, rather fearful of exactly how much of the pirate's memory they would jog. "It's been at least a week, Jack."

The gears seemed to be turning in Jack's head. "And I went down with 'er?"

Will swallowed. "Aye."

"Then, where are we goin'?" Jack demanded in exasperation. "I need a drink 'fore we decide to be decidin' anything and having any new revelations revealed." The others just halted and turned with a look a grave disdain and annoyance on their faces. "Well, if m' _Pearl _is gone, I need to send 'er off with a good drink. A toast-" Jack raised a nonexistent glass "-to the _Black Pearl._"

The warrior burst from nowhere, having circled back to the procrastinating pirate. "You, sir, shall keep moving."

"No, I shall not," the old, cocky Jack came back.

Sygne pointed her spear down upon him. "You shall."

Jack fiercely folded his arms across his chest and tossed his head to one side. "Not until someone explains this to me." He looked to the crew in angry and exasperation, throwing his arms. "Ye lot are keepin' something from yer Cap'n, and I think, considering I've jus' been reclaimed from the dead, I've been rather acceptin' and fair in all this." He looked to the others, his eyes narrowing to dark slits. "But I've had enough o' all this." Jack fixed a stern gaze on Elizabeth, a knowing look, perhaps, in her opinion, too knowing. "Now somebody had better tell me what's going on, or else."

The warrior snorted under her golden mask. "Or else what, precisely? My scouts have the advantage, and neither you, nor your would be rescuers, are armed in any way."

Jack gave a teasing shrug and threw himself down, sitting himself cross-legged on the ground and playing with one of his braids. "Or else I'm not movin', love." He grinned mischievously at all of them. "Ye all have been so very quick to haul off and ship out, jus' draggin' yer captain around like a child. What's the big rush, if I may inquire so supposedly rudely?"

Barbossa walked up to the rather recalcitrant captain. "A, Jack, she is not your ship to be captainin'. She's my ship. B, yer good friends, Mr. Turner and Miss Swann, risked life and limb crossin' the Caribbean and goin' off the edge o' the map fer ye, to save yer sorry soul." Jack mocked being hurt by the statement and rolled his eyes. "And C, ye've just been contracted into the service of the most powerful bein' in the Caribbean."

"Ye know, Barbossa, I've heard all that before from Dayv Jones, and he's managed to let my slipp'ry little soul just slip out of his hands," Jack replied.

The elder captain shook his head. "Ye don't understand, Jack, and ye never will 'less ye open those ears of yers." Barbossa sighed. "Ye've been contracted into the service of the one creature in these waters and maybe in the whole world who has the power to stop death dead in its tracks." He looked to Sygne, who slouched astride her mount and stayed her spear. "Ye've been bound to the same contract I have, and Hel'll have yer immortal soul to torture for eternity if we don't make our mark 'fore she looses her temper."

"What?" Jack laughed.

Sygne placed a hand on her hip, holding the reins and her spear in the other. "It is true. For she is the soul warden, and it is her power alone to allocate the fate of those under her watch."

"An' what, do tell, is our one task?"

Barbossa looked down. "Find the heart of Davy Jones and bring it back t' 'er dead."


	17. Half Pain

RED SKY

"Are ye bloody mad?"

Elizabeth shuddered with the sudden shout of rage from Jack Sparrow. He'd been so complacent and easily led up until the this moment in the jungle, surrounded by the fiercest of warriors the noblewoman had ever seen. The woman held her breath and tried to force down the lump in her throat.

Jack shook his head, tossing those braids and jingling the beads and metal bits in his hair. "Ye're bloody off yer rocker, y'know that?" He laughed, hysterical. "No. I won't follow ye on yer damned dumb mission."

Elizabeth just blinked, but Sygne beat her to the argument. "You cannot deny her."

"I most certainly can!" Jack fumed.

Sygne leapt from her horse in the merest blink of an eye, launching herself upon him and tackling the pirate. The warrior growled in his face with all the rage and ferocity of the beast upon his mask. Her snarling echoed in Jack's ear as those razor sharp claws dug into the tender flesh of his neck. Her eyes darkened as she glared upon him. This was the beast ready for the kill, the chimera and the monster that lay locked within the warrior lady.

Jack frowned as her tiger stripes seemed to move and sway, but Sygne did not budge. "You shall serve my lady as promised or she shall exact her vengeance upon you, striking you down in whatever hole you dare hide in with your tail set quite firmly between your legs." Sygne leaned close, breathing in his scent through the holes in the mask. "She can smell your fear and taste it. As can I. As can all my kin." A wolf howled in the distance. "We will find you."

"What makes ye think ye can take down the great Cap'n Jack Sparrow?"

The warrior drew a talon across his neck. "Because you are marked by the grace of my lady and her majesty protects you. And because you can never escape death." She sneered beneath the mask, and the pirates could all hear it in her voice. "Not unless death allows it."

Jack chuckled for a moment nervously and, upon seeing her unwavering glare, gave in. "Ye make quite a convinced argument, luv."

"The name is Sygne, and it will do you well to know it well."

The warrior let him up; he rose and dusted himself off, replacing his hat upon his head and giving it a small doff. "Pleasure to meet you." He turned to Will and made a grimacing face as the warrior sprang onto the back of her ebony mount. "...Polite thing to do would be to say..."

"Your Hunter is just ahead," Sygne interrupted him curtly, wheeling her horse around and breaking through the group.

Jack swallowed his pride for a moment, obviously plotting something. "After you."

Barbossa stepped right into his former captain's face, so close that Sparrow couldn't help but draw away from the other pirate's rancid smelling breath. "Listen t' me, Jack, and you listen good. If ye fail her, if ye fail us, we all suffer." He lowered his voice. "The East India Company, the British Royal Navy, the pirates, rum runners, traders, slavers, all of 'em. They're all after the heart for their own needs. If we don't return the heart to 'er, no one will survive 'er wrath or that of whoever holds the heart." He flicked Jack in the chest. "Ye best not fail us if y' have any sense of self preservation."

Jack held up his palms in surrender. "Fine."

They walked on, wandering down the winding path, following the great, swinging rump of the big, black stallion down the hill. Elizabeth wondered where the chimera truly led them until the trees opened up to a shallow, glittering cove, sparkling under the moonlight. Sharp, flat cliffs ran up all around the other sides of the little inlet, while only their side bore anything resembling a hill at all. Even there, at the base, just standing on the sugar fine, white sand, looking back up the hill, Elizabeth could hardly believe they had just walked down the steep incline, along with the horses and warriors.

Sygne cantered down the beach for a few strides, before bringing the stallion around in a neat little circle, allowing him to slow to a more collected pace and round out along its topline. Just behind her, sat _El Cazador_, safely moored and hidden from the Caribbean coast of the island. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the lanterns lit and the rest of the crew actually aboard. The warriors had spared them and brought them back during the counsel with the ruler of this island.

Elizabeth whispered a silent prayer, thanking her lucky stars in the heavens above.

Jack, meanwhile, rolled his eyes at Barbossa. "Y'call that a ship?"

"Aye," the man stolidly ignored the insult.

Sparrow smirked. "I wouldn't call it a rowboat." He looked to Barbossa, a gleam in his eye, visible even in the quickly dimming twilight. "What's her name?"

"_El Cazador. _The Hunter."

Jack leaned close. "Do I get to keep 'er."

"Absolutely not, Jack." Barbossa smirked to himself. "Tia Dalma gave 'er to me."

"Tia Dalma?" Jack sounded shocked and horrified. "But, Tia Dalma and are as thick as thieves. She should'ave given 'er to me." He stared out at the tiny seeming sloop compared to the _Black Pearl_. "I bet she's fast, 'en. Maybe almost as fast as the _Pearl_."

"Faster."

Jack shook his head. "No ship's faster than the _Pearl_. Excepting maybe the _Flying Dutchman_."

Barbossa looked to him mischievously. "She'd better be."

"Your ship awaits," Sygne called, giving a slight bow. The woman slipped from the back of the massive stallion and approached Jack. "Please, understand, we are all in the service of my lady. I know your apprehension at this and your distrust." She hugged him, the cool metal of the mask chilling the pirate's cheek. "And I know you cannot remember how you died. None of us can. But know that you are in her grace, and she will not fail you so long as you do not fail her."

"How did y'know I can't remember dying," he whispered so low only the warrior could hear him.

Sygne's voice echoed under the gold of the mask. "I am in her service, too. Never forget that you are not the only one honor bound and contract bound by her grace." The fur of her paws tickled him. "You are not alone, Jack Sparrow. Hel with never forget you. Even if you have forgotten how you died, Hel has known you and has been with you, at your side since the day you were born."

The tiger-striped lady backed away as a small procession of teenage girls, all dressed in white with the same silver-white braids. The carried same lanterns, each burning with a pale blue flame, flickering with each step. They each took a hand of the five pirates and led them in a line to one of _El Cazador'_s tiny row boats. As they walked, Sygne climbed atop the dark stallion and walked him past them.

Her words shook Jack. "Never forget."

He lifted his eyes for but a moment to watch as Sygne passed him. The warrior looked down, not daring to remove her mask, but Sparrow knew those dark eyes were upon him as the steed meandered past him. Jack kept quiet, not daring to say a word. Instead, the man glanced away, hearing Sygne cluck loudly to the stallion and listening as the pair cantered off.

The teenage girls took them to the boat and helped them in before working together to give the boat a small shove. It took a moment before Will and GIbbs actually took to the oars. Instead, they just sat, transfixed, staring upon the beautiful, mysterious island. That untamed, savage land seemed to call to them. And, up the hill, they could see the elegantly built castle, rising from the island, and the line of white-clad girls, all bearing their blue lanterns.

The others took to the oars, but Elizabeth, Jack, and Barbossa continued to watch the island. And, on the beach, Jack stared as the riders appeared from the jungle, joining Sygne upon the sands. The warriors, all dressed as those demonic chimera, seemed to dance their steeds among each other, as if playing. They spun about one another.

Once aboard _El Cazador, _Jack turned his gaze back to the beach, to the woman he barely new, with the black stripes of the tiger, dwelling on the words she had said.

How much of his death did he remember?

Jack shook his head as the ship took to sea.

xxxx

Once at sea, Elizabeth called Mr. Gibbs and Barbossa to the captain's quarters. She offered them a drink, welcomed them as cordially and as formally as any woman would welcome a gentleman into her home. The woman served them as hostess and a lady. Then, she sat across from them, trying to be as prim and proper as a cross-dressed woman could be.

"Thank you," she finally said. "For your joint discretion."

Barbossa nodded. "Ye have nothin' to worry about, Miss Swann." The man looked to Mr. Gibbs. "We have much larger things to worry about now than disturbing the newly resurrected."

"Do we?" Gibbs demanded.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I know you are vexed with me, Mr. Gibbs, and I know you have never appreciated having a woman aboard any of your vessels. But, please, if you can find it within yourself to forgive me, to put this all behind you, please..."

Gibbs shook his head. "Y'think it's that easy?"

"No," Eilzabeth admitted rather flatly. "I can not force you to forgive me."

"And what about Jack?" The man argued.

The woman swallowed the growing lump in her throat, fighting back tears. "Jack doesn't seem to know, doesn't seem to remember anything. I suppose it's a blessing that he can't recall what the kraken did to him."

"It's a blessing for you that he doesn't remember what YOU did to him," Mr. Gibbs quipped, his voice laced with heavy venom. "And what about Will?"

"What about him?" Barbossa cut in.

Mr. Gibbs's gaze began to shift back and forth, untrusting of this pair anymore. "Will gave 'is life for Jack's. 'E's bound to find the heart of Davy Jones just as much as you-" he pointed to his captain. "-Just as bound as Jack by way of your lie."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't know anymore."


	18. Partners in Crime

RED SKY

Tia Dalma had been casting bones since the time she was but three years old. Her mother had said she had a gift for them, to see their pattern and understand what future wrote in the scraps of animals parts. Her hands knew just how to toss the bits of bones, and her eye instinctively saw and read what they layouts meant. Tia Dalma just knew, in her heart of hearts, how to work those bones.

That was why, when the oracle had just turned five, she knew before anyone else about her mother. Tia Dalma had seen mother die in the bones and, in reality, just a few short months later from malaria. It horrified the tiny girl to no end to know such things, to see such things, written in the back of her mind, burning into her brain. However, just as in these matters, the dark, dangerous woman had known within herself that there was no changing the facts.

It had been her task, for so many years, to see over such facts in matters of the Caribbean for so very long. It seemed like centuries. But not for much longer. Soon, Tia Dalma could stop. The end quickly drew near.

And the crimson sails of _El Cazador _brought it.

As soon as the bones had been cast, Tia Dalma went, and made herself some tea, and lots of it. They would be wanting it, needing it. The oracle knew so. And just in the nick of time, for, as the woman poured the tea, there came a creak on the porch in front of her home.

"That 'ad better be me good an' 'onorable pirates," she called out jokingly.

A grin formed on Jack's face for the first time since before he died. "Nah, just me and me weasely black hearted crew."

Tia Dalma looked up, happy, but most certainly not surprised. The oracle merely walked up and wrapped her arms about him, embracing the confused pirate rather warmly. She rubbed his hands up and down his back before releasing him.

"Y'look good fer a dead man, Jack Sparrow," she greeted.

Jack smiled. "So, it's yer fault they came for me."

"Aye."

He hugged her again. "Then, I thank ye, I suppose."

The woman took a mug and placed it in his hand; upon seeing the look of disdain at the healthy drink, Tia Dalma pulled a flask from somewhere in her tattered dress, saying, "I knew ye wouldn'ta liked it withou dis." She smirked coyly and sat at her table. "Invite in yer friends, den."

Jack turned and gave a small wave of his hand, calling forth Will and Barbossa.

The elder captain nodded. "Tia Dalma, y'know why I've come back."

"Aye," she scattered the bones again, and, still, they fell in the same, off kilter pattern. "Ye've come fer him heart. Da heart of Davy Jones. Only dat will fufill yer contract with Hel."

"Excuse me," Jack interjected. "I made no contract."

"But William Turner did fer ye," the oracle retorted with a wave of her finger.

The blacksmith shook his head at the mention, but Jack merely raised a hand, stifling her. "Aye, but I made no contract."

"It matters not, Jack," she snapped. Jack silenced himself, having never really heard Tia Dalma speak so aggressively. "Da contract 'as been made. An ye have to fufill yer contract." Jack sighed and sat down heavily in a chair. "Ye have no idea what manner of being ye be dealin' with, do ye, Jack?"

The man let out a laugh. "No, but if someone wouldn't mind jus' tellin' me, then, maybe," he looked harshly upon the crew outside. "Just maybe I would!"

Tia Dalma looked shocked at Barbossa. "Y'never told dem?"

"No," Barbossa responded flatly.

Will glanced at the black mark upon his hand. The heart with the claws and the serene face. The same image had been in the eye of the jolly rogers that Tia Dalma had given to them. It was the same image he had seen in the twin music boxes of the oracle and of Davy Jones.

"No, but you know," the blacksmith cried out, stepping forward suddenly.

The oracle dipped her head ever so slightly. "Ye be a smart one, William Turner, y'know dat?" He nodded, but she went on, "Aye, no one has told ye. Because no one wants to ever be admittin' dis." The woman sat back. "She be a god. And not jus' any god. A god o' death." The gave a give flick of her finger. "An' don't ye go thinkin' ye can cheat dis one jus' like Davy Jones, Jack. Dis one is no fool."

Jack nodded. "Then, why does she want Davy Jones's heart? Why doesn't she get it for herself?"

"Because him contract will not allow it."

The pirate seemed to have reached his breaking point, shaking his head and throwing his arms in the air. "That is just perfect."

Tia Dalma sat back, her hand running over those many beaded necklaces of hers. "Y'be rather ungrateful for someone who jus' got brought back to live. She 'as given ye a great gift an' all ye have to do is finish what ye started."

"Why?" Will finally breathed. "Why is it so important that she have the heart?"

The blacksmith had not forgotten about the promise, the solemn promise he had made to his father. In fact, he had already been planning to destroy the heart of Davy Jones. Getting Jack back had been just icing on the cake in the grand scheme of things. But, now, with Jack's questioning, Will couldn't help but try to put things together, despite obviously missing several pieces to the puzzle.

"Don't ye ever be questionin' a god!" Tia Dalma barked. "I learnt dat first hand." Her anger receded like waves upon the shore. "An' she wants it ta fix a grave error."

"Gods do not make errors," Will breathed, remembering his bible lexicon.

"Some do," Barbossa whispered. "When honor bound." He looked to the oracle sitting before them. "And contract bound."

Tia Dalma smirked. "So, ye think ye've figured it out?"

The oldest of the three pirates nodded. "Aye. Ye made a deal with the lady Hel, didn't ye?" The oracle grew silent. "Ye were the one who Davy Jones could not tame, weren't ye?"

Tia Dalma nodded. "Aye."

Will looked away. "And ye made a deal with Hel? What for?"

"I made no such deal!" the oracle retorted. "I am as trapped as ye, Jack." She pouted those lips of hers that Jack hadn't known for quite some time. "I be bound by him contract."

"Davy Jones made a contract with Hel," Will whispered, dawning on the truth.

Tia Dalma nodded slowly. "Aye. Him made a contract with Hel to cut out him heart, to live forever." She looked away. "An' Hel made him contract." The woman drew close her bones and casted them out again. "Him added it. Him made me live forever. But she, she was too smart. She made me her servant until the contract be out an' done."

Barbossa just shook his head gravely. "I'm sorry."

"Don't pity me." The oracle stood and fetched herself a cup of tea. "I was the greatest of her monks. The very greatest. She had no other that could best me. But I be just mortal." Tia Dalma rubbed her forehead. "I lived on dat rock for close to three hundred years. 'En, I met him." The woman cast her bones. "With him contract, I be immortal and have to serve her forever."

Jack walked his fingers across the table. "An' Davy Jones. What did 'e trade?"

"Him traded him service fer her. 'E would collect souls for her, bring them to her island, bring 'em to him lady." She glanced back and forth. "But him would not 'ave it. Him would not serve any woman ever again." Tia Dalma grinned a toothy smile. "'E kept 'em for himself."

"That's why she needs someone to get his heart for her," Jack said with a nod.

Will turned to his friend. "She is just as bound to her contracts. She can't touch him. Or us unless we don't bring her the heart, for that matter."

"Where can we find the heart?" Barbossa inquired.

The woman lifted an eyebrow in Jack's direction. "Lost yer compass, eh, Jack?"

The pirate's brow knotted, and he reached into his many jacket pockets, searching for the compass. Instead the captain found it tied to his belt, somehow having survived the kraken and the underworld. Tia Dalma took it and opened the compass out on the table, watching the needle spin without a magnet. Then, she bit her lip, drawing a bit of blood and smeared that upon the needle. The compass swung about and pointed away from Hispanoila, to Port Royal.

"There be ye're damned heart," Tia Dalma announced.

Will leaned close. "Port Royal? Beckett has the heart."

They turned to bolt, but Tia Dalma reached out and caught Jack hard on the wrist, jerking him back close to her. "Dat compass can take ye to only one o' two things, now, Jack." She bit her lip just barely, sucking on the cut. "It could be de heart, but, 'en again, could be Davy Jones."

"Ye don't have to worry about me, love." He held out his arms. "I'm Jack Sparrow."

She placed her hand upon his forehead. "I know ye can't remember, Jack." She looked down. "I know because I cannot remember." The woman smiled. "Ye have to keep the island safe. Ye 'ave to protect me sisters, de ladies and de girls of the her island. They be innocents, all of them." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Davy Jones went through all 'ell to try an' have me, and, when takin' me by force ended..." Tia Dalma paused, trying to find a delicate way to put it. "Poorly, he made him pact. He'll stop at nothin' te keep him contract."

"He killed you?" Jack breathed.

Tia Dalma nodded. "Aye. Him killed me. Killed me with him love." She drew up her skirt, revealing a patch of tiger stripes along her calf. "'E could never have me. Not by 'er law, not by any o' their law." She let the dress fall to the ground. "I was one of hers, and untouchable, unattainable to any man. 'E couldn'ta ever have me, but 'e could never live without me."

All this secrecy, all these whispers drove Jack mad; the pirate leaned close, hissing into her ear. "Did ye ever remember?"

"Aye."

"And what came of it?" Jack inquired.

"Nothin' good." She stepped away and gave a small wave. "G'luck, Jack."


	19. Fireflies

RED SKY

There seemed an inordinate amount of secrecy to how Jack died.

He began to wonder, to question things, on the long journey back to Port Royal. It ate away at him so much so that Jack had even stopped heckling Barbossa over who captained this ship, _El Cazador_. At first, Jack had found much amusement at the elder captain's and Elizabeth's expense, as usual. However, both Barbossa's wariness and Elizabeth's downright paranoia towards him sent Jack to the very bowels of the ship in the dank hold.

Elizabeth had never treated him so... strangely.

And Gibbs? His first mate? The man hadn't spoken a word to his former friend and captain since before he died. They'd once been the closest of friends. Now, they couldn't share two words with each other.

Jack retreated to the hold to sit and think where no one could bother him and where he could be alone with his thoughts. The pirate wasn't entirely sure how he felt about having been with Tia Dalma after Davy Jones had apparently had her and especially now that the pirate knew this oracle of the swamps was supposedly a monk or priestess in the employ of a goddess. It also didn't sit too keenly with Sparrow that she, just like he, had been resurrected from the dead to be forced into a contract with a god of death.

He found a bottle of rum and began to nurse it along with his contemplations.

It sounded so familiar. An island, inhabited by, to his knowledge, nothing but women. Priestesses to an unknown goddess. It sounded an awful lot like a great myth. It sounded an awful lot like Avalon of the King Author legends. However, that island didn't exist, couldn't exist. Then again, sea monsters, undead crews, and cursed Aztec gold shouldn't exist either. And, equally unrealistic, for that matter, was people just up and coming back to life.

He leaned back, against the hull, wondering.

After who knew how long, Will came stumbling down, calling out, "Jack, are you in here?"

"Aye," the pirate replied rather emotionlessly.

The blacksmith clambered about for a moment, found a lantern and lit it before walking to him and sitting on a keg across from his friend. "What are you doing down here in the dark?"

"Why do they look at me so strangely?" Jack inquired without ever answering Will's question.

The other man shook his head. "Who?"

"Barbossa, Gibbs, Elizabeth. Why d'they look at me like somethin's wrong with me?" The pirate stared into the darkness, into the shadows. "Is somethin' wrong with me?"

"No!" Will swiftly answered. "Nothing is wrong with you!"

Jack sighed. "Then, why do they look at me like there's some awful bloody secret?" He slapped his hands on his hips. "Did ye see me die? What happened? What'd I do?"

Will went to answer, then, stopped himself and drew in a breath. "I didn't see it." He let out the breath he had been holding as Jack sat back again, before continuing, "Elizabeth... she was the last one off the _Pearl_. She said you were staying behind to draw the kraken off of us and give us a chance to get away. We left you there."

Jack nodded. "So no one really saw it?"

"Well, Elizabeth would be the person to ask. She was the last person to see you before... Before the kraken came," the blacksmith said.

The pirate looked to him square in the eye. Those words from that dreamworld hit Will hard. He could almost hear the man actually saying the words. That accusation stung at his heart. Will tried to hide it from those piercing, chocolate brown eyes of Jack Sparrow's.

"I think yer bonny lass knows somethin'," Jack dared.

His friend reeled at the thought. "What do you mean?"

"Something Tia Dalma said to me." Jack shook his head. "She is hidin' somethin', Will, that's for damned sure. An' I'm goin' t' find out what if it kills me."

xxxx

Governor Weatherby Swann hated this life. He felt trapped, forcibly detained in his own home. Lord Cutler Beckett's men constantly swarmed the mansion, wandering this way and that, helping themselves to their host's amenities. They served a constant reminder to the man to not dare leave his home without his 'master's' knowledge and consent.

He felt so trapped, so much held there like a caged bird.

Governor Swann felt as he daughter had so often described living under colonial social inequities. Elizabeth often tried him so, pushing her boundaries ever so slightly to see how far her father would let him. In retrospect, granted the circumstances, the man felt nothing but the deepest of respect for his daughter for living so constricted like that. He hoped she never resented him for impressing those little decorums upon her.

He sighed and shook his head. Governor Swann wondered absently where his daughter and her fiance had gotten off to in the wild blue yonder. Perhaps she lounged on a beach. Perhaps Will and she were laughing and drinking with that scoundrel, Jack Sparrow, having a grand time. Anything would have been better than the reality of Governor Swann's life.

The man sighed and sat back on the rocking chair on the rear porch of the mansion. He looked out, upon the dark jungles of the island just beyond the light of Port Royal. Somewhere, in the distance, thunder rumbled, rolling amid the clouds.

The Governor glanced to one of the armed guards below the porch railing. "It's going to rain." The man kept his back to Swann, rudely so; the Governor tried again. "I say, I can hear thunder."

An explosion rocked the home.

Governor Weatherby Swann had never been a fighting man, not in all his years. In truth, being political had softened him and his body worse than normal. At least, in his youth, at school and the university, he'd been quite active. Cricket, polo, fencing, hunting, and so many others. In his older years, marriage, a daughter, and his political career kept Swann from being quite the same man as he had once been physically. The Governor, in truth, for more weak and brittle with each passing year.

At that moment, when the window behind him burst into a spray of glass of splinters, flying over the porch and the man's shoulder, all Governor Weatherby Swann could think of was, of all things, Quincy.

It was the last horse he'd gone hunting on. Quincy, with those long legs. Quincy, with those big, brown eyes. Quincy, with those dappled gray hips of his. Quincy, with all that spirit and fire within him. Quincy, who Swann had all his confidence in. Quincy, who would leap hurdles, jump ditches, and cross rivers for his rider, all for the merest of praise. Quincy, who one could not convince that there weren't apples, sugar lumps, or treats hidden in every pocket.

No, for, as the glass hit him in the back, as the armed guard, in his navy blue coat spun around, none of those were the Quincy that Governor Swann recalled.

Instead, as the massive hulk of metal tore through the window behind him and rushed just past the governor in his rocking chair, he thought of the last moment he and Quincy had been together. In the whites of the guard's eyes, Governor Swann saw those big brown eyes of his gelding's, as the horse drew his head up and back, hollowing out. He saw Quincy throw his head back and to the side, trying oh-so desperately to stop short before hitting that log.

As the cannonball slammed into the guard, all Governor Swann could think of was Quincy, heading so swiftly up and towards the log, ready to jump it as his rider asked. All Swann could think of was being so happy and feeling the joy drain out of him when both he and the gelding realized that the log hid a twelve foot deep ditch, lined with rocks. He saw the horse react as if it were happening, turning to the right and pushing his heels in, putting Swann away from harm. As Beckett's henchman rocketed away, Governor Swann just saw the world fall away as it had in that moment when he slipped from the saddle as Quincy tripped and dropped into the ditch.

Quincy would never leave that ditch ever again; the guard would never leave the Swann property ever again. And both were just doing what their masters had asked. Both were completely innocent.

Governor Swann hurled his body to the ground and rolled off the porch where the cannonball had ripped through the railing, leaving an opening. He cursed whoever dared attack his town, but the opportunity to escape could not be ignored. Especially when his town, his home, his people were under attack. Governor Weatherby Swann would not fail them as he had failed his very last hunting steed.

He looked to the ground, ducking as a second cannonball tore through his house. Swann scrambled there, in the bushes, and burst out onto the path where the guards strolled. To his great luck, the rifle had of the guard had just fallen to the ground right there when it's owner had been tossed away.

The Governor quickly snatched the rifle up and began to jog along the path, to where it wrapped around the house. Voices shouted, and Swann threw himself back, into the bushes, crouching low to the ground. He held his breath as the voices drew near, obviously coming closer. Governor Swann absently wondered if this was what Elizabeth and Will had to do every time Jack Sparrow blew back on the trade winds into their lives.

"Over there!"

Swann felt he'd been seen for sure. He gripped the rifle hard, mindful of the fact that he had forgotten to pick up ammunition, but ready to swing the heavy thing as a club at Beckett's guards.

Governor Weatherby Swann had never attacked a man. Nor in anger. Not in sport.

Never.

And, fortunately, for him, as the voices moved passed him as the cannonfire continued to roar from down in the bay. All of Beckett's men, much to the great thanks of Governor Swann, were too distracted by all the commotion, and rightfully so, it seemed.

He had to take his chance then, for the people of Port Royal.


	20. Boom

RED SKY

The day had been long for him.

For both of them, but in quite different ways.

For Isaac, it had been hard on the spirit, mind, and body. He had been thrown down, to the bottom of a deep pit. Now, Isaac stared up at the man above him, treading water to try and stay above it. However, still, that bastard overhead just looked down and even laughed at the living corpse's torment. The bartender of the world's oldest bar would have loved to wipe the smile off of the damned man's face, but he knew he could not.

Beckett glared. "Now, are you going to be gentlemanly and tell me exactly how you were brought back from the dead, or we shall have to get rough again."

"I told ye, I did not do anything! It was all her!" Isaac shouted.

The nobleman nodded. "And so you have said." In the deep cellars of the Port Royal fort, Beckett savored the desperation in Isaac's voice. "You have attested to the fact that there is a goddess of the Caribbean and of death has the power to stop and even reverse death. However, you keep failing to tell me how to reach her."

"Because ye can't find her unless you have the blessing of one of her kin, or unless you have a contract with her," Isaac argued.

Something rumbled upstairs.

The last thing Isaac would hear that night would be Beckett, asking in annoyance as he left, "What now?"

xxxx

James Norrington waited for a moment, listening.

Lord Cutler Beckett had not been impressed by the hunt for _El Cazador_ nor their progress in capturing any clues to unlock the mysteries of Davy Jones's still beating heart. In fact, the nobleman had been so displeased that he ordered the privateer to return him to Port Royal straight away. That had been two days ago. The head of the East India Trade Company refused to entertain Norrington since then.

In fact, the man had even threatened to set the port guard upon him. Cutler had obviously struck some sort of a deal with Governor Swann. What for, the former commodore couldn't really venture a guess.

Reluctantly, Norrington ordered his crew to moor the _Herald Mark _far off the shore from Port Royal. When dusk set in, the brigantine had been sitting rather safely behind the last resting place of two or three pirates who had dared attempt to enter Port Royal. They were just far enough away to drown out the rattling of their warning sign against their dried, dead ribs.

At first, it had sounded like stray thunder, but, then, the first real volley of cannon fire hit his ears, Norrington moved swift to the held.

Nothing met his eyes upon the horizon for a moment. Then, to his horror, the privateer say it. A ship, coming to port, sails still unfurled, heading in at all speed. The former commodore looked to the town, and, to his utter dismay, saw the flickering sparks of a city aflame.

"ALL HANDS ON DECK!"

xxxx

A government is nothing without its people, and, as such, a governor was nothing without his people.

Governor Swann hated living the mansion unguarded by his own people, but he knew Cutler Beckett too well. The trader would keep at least a few of his riflemen up at the highest home in Port Royal, to ensure the governor kept to his word. However, with an attacking ship come to port, Beckett would be sure to draw most of him men to protect the trade assets.

This was Swann's chance to just escape and get away.

But, he would not leave his people to just get sacked without mercy by some invading force or pillaging pirates. Instead, he followed the wooded path down from the mansion, avoiding the roads where Beckett's men rushed up and down, shouting their orders and barking at one another. He ran alongside it, however, moving swiftly down the hill towards the town.

Then, it hit him. Acrid smoke stung at his eyes and burnt his lungs as it rolled uphill, carried by the wind. His eyes teared involuntarily, striving to rid themselves of the harsh stuff. Along it, came the awful scent of roasted flesh and hair.

Human.

Something dark passed over him.

The whole world exploded upon him and around him as chaos unleashed its self in the forests around Port Royal. Thunder roared. The trees shook and trembled like children in the storm. The earth became the sky as heaven fell to earth.

The next thing Governor Weatherby Swann became aware of was the ground. It had suddenly come so close to his face. The man was lying on the soft earth. Ringing in his ears deafened the politician as his head slammed and spun with each and every beat of his pounding heart. He rose, letting the dirt and dust fall off of his coat and shirt. Swann instantly became aware of what had happened to the world around him. A cannonball had plummeted from the heavens and landed right beside him, burying its self in the crater. Dust swirled about him.

He had to keep moving, keep going before Beckett realized his little play thing was gone to the jungles. The people, his people, were screaming. They needed help, and Swann had to try.

Governor Swann looked about, regaining his orientation. The town wasn't far now, just a little bit further. He looked about for the rifle, but it was gone. Who knew where it had fallen when the governor had been hurled to the ground by the concussion of the landing mortar? He certainly didn't, and the man didn't waste any time searching for it.

The man ran until he came to town and stopped dead, frozen in place.

Port Royal wasn't just under attack. It was gone. The houses burnt, sending their embers into the heavens, like little fireflies on the wing. Great clouds of smoke boiled up, into the sky with those glowing, orange sparkles. Where once great houses and shops stood, now, only smoldering skeletons remained, charred and still smoking. Horses screamed the pierce, sharp, haunting whinnies as they fled in terror, their eyes wide and showing the whites with horror. The townspeople darted this way and that, trying to escape some terrible fate.

The Governor couldn't imagine it. After all those years, reclaiming the town from savages, the Spaniards, the ravages of the Caribbean tempests, the pirates, after all that. After all their hard work, Swann expected the town to stand forever.

But it was almost gone.

"Somebody please! Help me!"

It jolted the governor back to reality as he bolted towards the cries and pleas for salvation. He rushed through the once familiar streets, now looking as the very pits of Hell under the work of what had to have been am ambush. These places had once been home, but now looked as charred shadows of their old visages.

"I'm coming!"

xxxx

_Cannons. Screams. Smoke._

_The girls, they were running, screaming in fright and terror. Their silver braids bobbed and swayed as the girls moved, flying down the spiraling stairs together. _

_Elizabeth was with them, running. _

_"Keep going!"_

_An explosion rocked the temple of Hel._

_Elizabeth looked back up the stairs, pausing for a moment, but, as she did, the girls, those young priestesses in training all froze, looking to the noblewoman for help. "No!" Elizabeth shouted at them, "Keep moving! Down to the tunnels!"_

_Elizabeth._

_Elizabeth looking at him, sadly, her eyes sorrowful. "It's after you, not the ship." The woman swallowed hard. "It's not us. This is the only way, don't you see?"_

xxxx

Jack awoke with a start, lurching forward suddenly. He rubbed his bleary eyes. Had he fallen asleep? He must have. Maybe passed out from the rum. But, more than likely the pirate had just dozed off; he hadn't had enough to drink yet to pass out from it.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth knew something.

But, now was not exactly the time as something clattered to the floor, not too far from him. Jack rolled off the barrel top and crouched low, behind it. He paused only to reach for his bottle of rum and cradle it with care where he hid. Jack Sparrow had learnt the hard way to guard him rum with an iron fist when trouble seemed to be brewing about.

However, his dark eyes scanned fiercely.

Something moved in the shadow not too terribly far away. However, there came not a sound, not a breath of motion. Jack peered into the depths of the dark and saw it move again. He hadn't been imagining or hearing things. Something metallic gleamed there in the shadow, having caught but the tiniest bit of light.

Jack smiled to himself.

And, then, a weight pressed down upon him, heavy and strong. He breathed deeply, inhaling the rich, warm scent of this thing, familiar and well memorized already. Those long locks and thick fur tickled him. The cold metal chilled the side of his face where she leaned against him, allowing the mask to brush his skin. Her strong hand squeezed ever so slightly upon his throat.

"Sygne. I thought we left ye on that miserable rock."

The warrior whispered into his ear tranquilly, as if singing to her own child. "I have come to ensure my lady's task is completed in swift order."

"Ah, we're already on it, love." Jack grinned from ear to ear. "I've got a magic compass, and guess where it points to?" Sygne laughed a muffled laugh under her mask, causing Jack to almost burst out in his own hoots. "No worries. It points right t' the heart of Davy Jones. We're heading there right now."

"I know." She sat up and looked away for a moment, hearing a crack in the distance. "We are close. I can hear it."

And, in his mind, Jack could hear it, too. Still beating. It tolled a death knoll for so many lives. A unwavering, steady, bass beat. It would beat for as long as it was allowed, never dying, never rotting, never succumbing to the wear of ages. The pirate knew Barbossa and Will could probably hear it to, by this point, if they actually focused on it and just opened their ears.

Sygne looked down upon him intently. "And I can hear your dreams."

Jack heard the familiar booms of cannon fire. "What do they say?"

"You see the death of my lady Hel and our fair island," the warrior breathed, turning away from the pirate pinned beneath her. "You herald the end of my sisters."

"I'll protect ye, love," he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

The booms grew louder, closer.

"ALL HANDS!" Will's voice cracked like a whip.

Jack leaned closer to the warrior, to this strange chimera, grabbing her by the upper arm. "Did ye hear me?" The warrior glared. "I won't let anythin' happen to ye or yer kin, savvy?"

"It is not me nor my sisters I am worried about. It is our time."

The pirate furrowed his eyebrows. "Then, what are ye so worried about?"

"You, Jack Sparrow."


	21. Lucky Stars

RED SKY

The seas had been calm leading up to Port Royal, so deathly calm.

Elizabeth had spent most of time out, and on decks, in the warm sunlight and the cool evenings. Jack had been through enough, and she wanted to offer him the privacy of the captain's quarters to sort things out on his own accord. However, the captain preferred to sulk in the bowels of the sloop. So long as Elizabeth stayed up top, she wouldn't have to face him, to face what she'd done to Jack.

Somehow, she felt closer to Barbossa than the woman could have ever imagined. When he had called her up to the ship's wheel, Elizabeth went obediently and curiously. The man had stood there, for a moment, comparing Jack's compass to their bearings, keeping an eye on just where the magically enhanced needle pointed. It took a moment for Barbossa to even acknowledge the woman he had summoned to his side. Elizabeth had sighed and almost walked away entirely.

However, it was at that moment, that Barbossa glanced to Gibbs. "Keep the headin'. Should put us to port by nightfall." The captain looked to Elizabeth. "Would ye join me, Miss Swann, for supper?"

"I do not think that would be too proper," the woman breathed, turning and staring off the port rail.

Barbossa drew close, dropping his voice so very low that even Elizabeth had trouble hearing him. "We need t' talk, ye and I." Her eyes went wide, but the woman just held herself in place, not wanting to tip her hand to the rest of the crew. "Y'know what about." She looked to him fearfully for a moment. "In private."

Elizabeth followed him down and into the captain's quarters. They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Barbossa let out a sigh and studied the charts laid out upon the desk there. He took a ruler and marked their course to Port Royal and their progress based off of the compass's bearings. Elizabeth wrung her hands as she waited for the captain to finally address her. He let out a heavy sigh, closed the compass and put up his tools.

"Miss Swann, our guest is gettin' a bit... restless," the man breathed.

Elizabeth made damned sure the newly fixed door was soundly locked and thanked her fiance mentally for fixing the hinges. "I am very aware of that."

"What d'ye plan t' do should he remember?" the captain asked pointedly.

The woman began to absently read the titles of all the books and journals upon the shelves flanking the door way. "I had not yet decided upon that." She turned and looked accusingly to Barbossa. "And I don't think it is any of your business, for that matter."

"I am none too keen on him lurking down in the dark." The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He's back from the dead, but I d'nay think he's all back. I don't like it one bit."

"Jack can do as he pleases," Elizabeth replied before reasserting, "It's his business, and his alone."

"It is," Barbossa flatly argued. "It's always my business when it affects m'crew."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Jack's not your crew, and he'll never be."

"Aye," the captain admitted. "But ye and yer fiance are."

Those words were upon her mind as soon as the tiny speck of Port Royal dawned on the horizon. She looked to Will, standing at Barbossa's side at the wheel. They had fallen so quickly into line under the man they had sworn to destroy not too terribly long ago. How could she have turned her back so swiftly on Jack?

No wonder he hid in the dark of the ship.

"Cap'n! Ships ho!" the man at the crow's nest cried out.

Barbossa peered through his spy glass, looking upon the horizon. Sure enough, that damned brigantine that had been tailing them, was out there. She lay moored off to the side of those cliffs. Barbossa gave a slight nod to the hanged pirates strung out there before glancing beyond them and trying to catch sight of the name of that ship. The _Herald Mark_. If he did anything, he'd make sure to sink the brigantine if it was the last thing he did before Hel reclaimed her contract.

Cannon fire sounded from the brigantine with puffs of smoke. Barbossa watched, following the line of the fire to the second ship, deeper in the cove. The _Flying Dutchman. _

He looked to Will. "Ready the men."

"ALL HANDS!"

xxxx

Jack had rather been enjoying the weight of the woman upon him when Will's voice cracked through the ship. The men rushed about, their feet pounding on the decks overhead. He listened intently to the familiar sounds of cannons being readied, portholes opened, and the gun gallery manned. It felt like it had been ages since he'd been with a woman, but it also felt like it'd been ages since Jack had been involved in a good battle. It distracted him.

The cannon retorts from so far away were distinctive. Every cannon gallery and firing crew had their own styles and timing, giving each ship it's own, unique sound. Jack, having been on the receiving end of so much cannon fire, had grown quite accustomed to the acoustic identity of each gunnery crew. One set was new, completely different than anything he'd ever heard. The other set could be none other than the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_, after hundreds of years of practice having grown to be the most skilled and swift gunners ever to sail the Caribbean.

"Are ye ready, love? Are ye ready to face all hell." The mask turned to one side, like an animal cocking its head to one side curiously. Jack just grinned from ear to ear. "Davy Jones is knockin' on our door."

Sygne returned her steady gaze to the pirate beneath her. "I have been ready."

"Aye, but do you have the courage and fortitude to follow yer orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death?" He chuckled. "To stay true in the face of the mouth of Hell its self?"

"I serve Hel," she quipped. "And Hel is far more merciful than I."

The warrior rolled off of him and began up, to the steps; Jack stopped her by calling out. "What do ye plan to do?"

"My plan..." The warrior looked down under her golden mask as the cannons boomed in the gallery overhead, shooting off the first warning shots. She drew her spear, the long, golden weapon, from where the woman had been concealed for so long. "My plan is to reclaim the heart of Davy Jones for my lady, Hel, just as I have been instructed by her holiness."

And, with that, Sygne rushed up the steps, with Jack hot on her heels. He chased her, just out of reach of her long tresses of ebony fur. She moved so swiftly, so elegantly. Jack laughed as her chased her amid the chaos of the gun gallery. He could almost reach out and grab her spear.

"I gotcha!"

She tucked up and leapt up, like a cat, grabbing hold of a stocky beam and swinging herself up upon it before launching herself out an open porthole. Her fur tucked out of sight as the warrior jerked hard to the left just outside.

"Spry bugger." Jack kept running, up the steps and to the main deck. "More 'an one way to skin a cat..."

He glanced about, this way and that, looking for her, searching for the warrior, however, she had disappeared. The crew hadn't seemed to notice anything. Not a thing. Jack hurled himself to the port side, to where Sygne had thrown herself out the narrow opening in the gun gallery, but the warrior had vanished.

"Where is she?" the pirate growled.

Elizabeth answered. "Who?"

"Sygne..." he barked back, still scouring the port side of _El Cazador_, looking for her.

The noblewoman sounded doubtful. "Jack... we left her behind..."

"No!" He screamed. "She was here. I saw 'er!"

"Jack!" Will cried out. "What's wrong?"

The pirate whirled around, and saw his friends, or, supposedly, his friends, standing there beside Barbossa. They seemed so at home there. And he, Jack Sparrow, he had become their undead prisoner. Their eyes, all of the eyes of the entire crew, fell upon him, accusingly and untrusting. They had betrayed him, all of them. And Sygne? Who knew where she'd gotten off to, who knew if she'd actually be there at all, for that matter.

Jack's head shook frantically. "No, no, no, no, no. She was here. I saw..."

The cannons fired again, off to other side. Jack glanced off to the starboard, to the brigantine as it swung about the rocks, returning fire.

"Look out!"

xxxx

"I've got to... I've got to..." Governor Swann panted.

After years of lethargy, his legs and muscles had atrophied terribly. His limbs burned from the effort to bolt down the narrow lanes and roads of Port Royal and make it to whomever needed his aid. A political life was never easy and especially not on the body. The body wasted away, in seemed, by a life of signing papers and overseeing port matters.

He rounded a corner and his eyes widened in horror as the sight came into view. A girl, trapped beneath a burning timber. Trapped beneath beneath the heavy foot of a man. No, not a man. It took a few moments for Governor Swann's mind to make sense of a cobbled shapes making up this creature of the deep. And, once his brain understood, Swann almost wished he hadn't tried so hard to figure out what the devil this beast was.

"Demon..."

For that was the only word to describe it. The creature, a man, it seemed, leaned close and sneered in the girl's face, delighting in her torture. His teeth were jagged, uneven, and pointed. His head forked into a t-shape, that of a hammerhead shark. His eyes stared out from the ends of the "t," dark and liquid seeming spheres.

The beast leaned close. "Scream for me. Scream for Maccus, now."

Swann glanced around. There had to be something, anything, he could use as a weapon.This was a town, for Christ's sake. There were so many weapons there on any given day; there had to be one somewhere nearby. He ignored the snide chuckles of the beast, who had been entirely engrossed by the girl under his foot, and looked this way and that. There, propped against a stone wall, rested a large, long piece of firewood, perhaps three feet long, and stocky. He snatched it up and felt the weight of it.

The beast, Maccus, snared at the girl. "Cap'n's orders are fer no survivors." He raised his cutlass. "Sorry, love."

"NO!" Swann rushed him, swinging the club as hard as he could at the same time, striking Maccus hard on the side of his t-ed heard. He threw himself between the girl and the monster. "Not in my town!"

Maccus grit his shark like teeth. "Your town? Last I heard, this was the Cap'n's town!"

The beast rushed towards him, tucking his head down and swaying with it left and right as if a shark in the water. Swann stepped forward, remembering his fencing, dodging the lumbering man with a quick side-step. Maccus, with his great mass and complete lack of real weapon's training, could never recover and spin about fast enough to keep up with Swann. The governor gave another quick lash with his hefty club, catching Maccus on his left eye soundly.

Maccus stopped and swirled around, his left eye shut to keep the thin trickle of blood above his brow from running into that dark orb. "Y'jus' made the biggest mistake of yer miserable life!"


	22. Hourglass

RED SKY

_Fate is a noun which rather curiously describes the universal principle or the ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumable prescribed, that which is inevitably predetermined, or that which unavoidably befalls a person._

At that moment, James Norrington would have loved to ponder the even more curious series of events that had drawn the red sailed sloop, _El Cazador_, and her star-crossed crew back into his grasp. For, right at that moment, when the _Herald Mark_ swung around, coming about the massive, jagged rocks before the harbor of Port Royal, those crimson sails came into view, completely unmistakable. The privateer had been prepared for the undead crew as soon as he had heard cannons and, swinging into the hard turn, Norrington had been expecting the _Flying Dutchman_ to be out there in the harbor. He hadn't been anticipating the sloop when the _Herald Mark_ completed the full turn.

What terrible luck the ill-fated lovers William Turner and Elizabeth Swann had, in Norrington's most humble of opinions. Davy Jones's crew had been well trained with years of slaving, but Norrington had ensured himself through dedicated drilling that his gunners would be ready to face the cursed captain. The pirates were just strolling into a massacre, it would seem. Elizabeth would have done better to stay with him, at Norrington's side as his bride.

"No." The man shook his head.

The privateer looked to the town, smoldering and burning, a blaze of dancing orange embers and flickering flames, sparkling on other side of the port. The townsfolk were still screaming in terror, still running and fleeing. He could not hear them, but Norrington knew that was what was happening over there. He may have been a turncoat and a pirate at one point, but the man would always be, first and foremost, a commodore and, as such, a protector of the people of the British crown.

"We have to give the people time to escape, a chance, at least." The commodore looked to his first mate. "Bring 'er hard in around the _Dutchman._ I want the head of Davy Jones by dawn."

"Aye, sir," the man replied hesitantly. "COME ABOUT!"

Norrington glared upon the sloop. Elizabeth and Will Turner would have to wait until after this was all over, until Davy Jones lay at the bottom of the deep and the _Flying Dutchman _sailed no more. Even then, as the brigantine cut across the bow of the sloop, Norrington could see them, arguing it seemed, with Jack Sparrow and the bloodthirsty Captain Barbossa.

"Barbossa..."

The privateer rubbed his eyes, checking to make sure they saw things right.

"It can't be..."

But it was.

xxxx

Cannon fire erupted around them, as the brigantine swooped in front of the path of _El Cazador_, causing them to turn hard to port and come about the intruding ship. Both the brigantine, the _Herald Mark_, and her quarry exploded in a flurry of action, as both ships fired upon one another and upon _El Cazador. _Barbossa began to shout orders at his crew as the sloop came in a smooth, arcing curve about the side of both the other ships, barking for them to fire upon both the attacking ships.

The very tip of a mast shattered into a splash of dust and splinters as a stray cannon ball smashed into it overhead. The crew scrambled up and down the deck, slipping on the loose bits. But Jack had just remained so very still as even a small chunk of wood fell upon his shoulder. He stood more unwavering and sober than Will had ever seen him.

"I saw her!" The pirate's voice cracked like the rifle reports around them.

Will didn't know what had gotten into his friend and former captain, but this was madness. Who knew what had happened to Jack and his mind those days locked away in the otherworld. For that matter, who knew what happened to those who came back from the dead? To Will's knowledge it changed them. It seemed to change Barbossa, seemed to draw out the honest, good side of him. Maybe, it just made them see the truth of the deceased, and, in the case of Jack Sparrow, maybe it drew out the madness.

It didn't matter. If Jack stayed there, he was in both harm's way and the crew's way. Will had to get his friend to safety and out of this battle. Jack had knocked him out once to protect him from foolishly facing Davy Jones's men and just throwing his own life away. So help him, Turner would have been only happy to return the favor.

The blacksmith approached, both hands held out. "Jack, it's ok."

"No, no, no. It's all wrong, Will, can't ye see?" Jack shook his head and looked at the younger man nervously. "You, Barbossa, ye're bonny lass." He watched the motion of the blacksmith strangely, wondering what Will was up to. "I saw 'er. I saw Sygne. She's here, Will."

"I believe you..."

xxxx

"What do we do?" Elizabeth turned her attention to Barbossa while Will seemed to have Jack distracted.

Barbossa shook his head and barked the orders in Will's place. "HARD TO STARBOARD!"

The captain took the ship's wheel in his own hands, aware of how dangerously shallow the reef could be along the edges of the harbor, and spun it hard to starboard. Elizabeth was almost knocked to the ground from the sudden, sharp turn, as were several other members of the crew. She reached out and grabbed the deck railing, holding on for dear life. Barbossa just clenched the ship's wheel as the rudder fought him through the chain. He grit his teeth, holding her steady.

The cannons exploded beneath Elizabeth's feet, shooting off round after round at the brigantine, the first attacking vessel in their sight, and, then, the _Flying Dutchman. _Water splashed up where shallow shots slammed into the bay. But, here and there, her ears were rewarding with the crunching sound of metal finding home in wood. It came with both the crisp, almost snapping quality as the_ Herald Mark _was hit, and the soggy, pulpy sound of a blow against the _Dutchman. _

Elizabeth let out a whoop of victory but stifled it as Barbossa righted the ship, snarling, "Don't go celebrating now, Miss Swann, not just yet." He looked down to the still scrambling crew. "FIRE AT WILL!"

xxxx

Will took his chance the moment _El Cazador_ began her swooping, tight circle about the two other ships. He had seen Jack momentarily falter and seem to lose his balance. It was the moment the blacksmith had been waiting for. The man threw himself at his former captain at that moment, sending both of them to the ground. They slid across the deck and into the wooden rail.

Jack grabbed Will by the neck and rolled him hard onto his back. "Ye don't know what ye're doin', boy?"

"Who are you calling, boy, old man?" the blacksmith growled back.

"FIRE AT WILL!"

Jack grinned a toothy grin even as Will tried to throw a harsh punch at him. The pirate just jerked hard to the side and rolled them over another full rotation. Jack sat perched atop his friend's son, as Sygne had rested upon him not five minutes earlier, his smile from ear to ear. His gold teeth gleamed.

"Ye hear that, Will?" The pirate teased. "They're calling for ye!"

Will grabbed at Jack's throat and squeezed hard. He hadn't wanted to do it this way, he truly hadn't. Jack had been his friend. Albeit an occasionally deceitful friend, but a friend nevertheless. Turner had never wanted to hurt the pirate captain. In truth, for the most part, the blacksmith had always rather admired the fact that Jack lived such a free life, and, maybe, just maybe, some part, deep down inside of him, admitted that Will actually admired Jack himself. But the pirate had given him no choice.

Jack hissed as he tried to breathe. He glanced up for a moment as the sloop came about again, this time passing the starboard side of the _Flying Dutchman._

Jack Sparrow looked Davy Jones dead in the eye.

And, worse, he saw Sygne, scaling the hull.

xxxx

"Hrmph."

Captain Davy Jones was in a foul mood. And, when Davy Jones was in a foul mood, the entire crew suffered more so that usual. All of them knew that. It was a perfectly clear fact of life... er... death, for the crew of the _Flying Dutchman _and for any mortal who stood in his way. Davy Jones had been such a foul mood since the heart had slipped through his grasp.

His heart...

The only thing that seemed to even merely assuage the captain was the attacks. Any sense of civilization that the _Flying Dutchman _came across, they sacked. No survivors. None whatsoever. It made him feel downright delightful to ruin so much in search of his heart. It may not have compensated for the lump of still beating meat, but it helped. Every burnt and smoldering port town left in their wake had served to spare his crew perhaps a year's worth of excruciating suffering.

His mood had only grown worse as the two ships swirled with his in the harbor of Port Royal. How dare they attack the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_? How dare they indeed unless they knew of the heart and the sway it held over him.

No. The captain would not give up his helm, his life, at least, not to any mortal man.

He glared at his crew. "And, 'lo, the waters ran red and were as blood! Let that day ring true again. Let their eyes be filled with the suffering and sorrow that comes to any man who dare raises against me. And let there be no survivors in this land."

A cheer rose up among the ranks; Davy Jones knew how to please his crew.

The pirate captain lifted his spyglass, studying the ships. The first, larger, prouder seeming ship, most certainly a former or current naval vessel, had been better manned and served most certainly the worse problem. The _Herald Mark_. Then, he glanced to the smaller and more unique of the two vessels. He scanned them and saw, to his surprise, Jack Sparrow, on the deck.

Davy Jones pulled his spyglass away to double check, and found himself staring face to face with the golden mask of a black furred demon. The ebony hairs were slicked back and dripping with salt water. His crew, all those who weren't too preoccupied, came to his side, protecting him. However, with the most subtle of sways with his massive claw the men returned to their posts, leaving their tentacled captain with the furred beast that perched, unmoving, on their deck rail.

"What brings ye here, oh angel of the underworld..." He sneered. "Or is it a demon from heaven?"

The beast did not move. "I have come to claim your heart, Captain Davy Jones."

xxxx

"Damn it, Jack!"

Will kicked out his feet and threw Jack from off of him and into the mast. And luckily so, for a bullet slammed into the deck not far from where both of them had been rolling about on the ground. The blacksmith rushed up to his mentor and tried to pin him there, against the wood.

Jack's eyes went wide.

"Will!"

xxxx

_She kissed him._

_Jack had always wanted to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips, to feel them press against his. It had never really been a passing fancy of his to know Elizabeth Swann intimately. His whole crew had known that. But she would never have him. And, so, when Elizabeth kissed him, pressed her whole body into his, put her hands on him, Jack almost died right then and there of shock._

_So, it came as to no shock when his ears heard the click of the shackle clamping around his wrist._

_Her eyes betrayed her actions. They always did. Jack had never told Elizabeth this, but he often watched those blue eyes of hers to know exactly what the woman was thinking. She hadn't wanted to kiss him. In truth, that hurt worse than knowing she didn't want to do this to him now. Elizabeth didn't really want to be chaining him there. Elizabeth Swann had to be, without a doubt, Jack would be, the **worst** poker or gambling player in the whole Caribbean. But Jack Sparrow would never tell her that, not ever. _

_"It's after you, not the ship." She peered into his eyes, as if seeking some forgiveness that Jack would never, could never give her. "It's not us. This is the only way, don't you see." _

_No, but Jack could see her lying to herself. Elizabeth Swann didn't want this anymore than Jack Sparrow did. The woman lied to herself, lied to him. Or, so her eyes seemed to be telling him. Those blue spheres seemed to be on the verge of tears, glossing over. Those lips quivered like she wanted to kiss him again or curse the pirate to his face._

_"I'm not sorry." Elizabeth told the truth then._

_He smiled sorrowfully. "Pirate."_

xxxx


	23. Dark Squall

RED SKY

"Ye're goin' t'pay for that!"

Governor Swann sincerely hoped not as the lumbering shark-man approached. Maccus sneered at him, coming at the governor with his cutlass drawn. The man lifted his club again, giving it a hard swing. But, this time, the hammerhead had been expecting it and easily dodged out of the way, spinning around and slashing through the air with his blade.

The girl screamed out again. "Help me!"

Swann looked to her, horrified. She couldn't have been much older than five, this poor creature. A massive timber from one of shops had fallen and seemed to be pinning her down. The tiniest of flames caught at the far base of the beam, licking towards the child.

"Hold on!" The governor screamed.

Maccus, distracted for a moment, turned to see what Swann looked to. The governor had hoped that the shark creature would lose his focus and give him an advantage. With a grunt of effort, the governor charge him, the club held up over his head, ready to strike down upon the monster. However, admittedly, Swann had been banking on the fact that those two eyes on their far stalks moved independently of one another. However, as soon as Maccus's grand, black eye turned and trained intently upon the governor in a flash.

Too late to rethink the plan, Swann just refigured his aim slightly and swung at that black eye of his. The club came down harsh and hard, knocking Maccus soundly, but not sound enough to send the pirate to the ground. It had been just enough to turn the massive head.

"Damn ye," the beats growled.

But Swann had moved past him, letting the club slip from his grasp. The governor hurled himself at the beam and clawed and it. He didn't have the strength of his youth yet, but the fire drew nearer.

"Sit tight," the governor ordered, trying to pry the beam from off the child.

But something collided with the governor's skull, tossing him aside with the greatest of ease. It took a moment for the governor to reclaim his orientation as he shook off the dizziness. Just in time, too, as Swann looked up to see the old cutlass of Maccus's come chopping down and through the air right towards him.

"No!"

xxxx

"What manner of devil is that?"

It was James Norrington's first mate who asked that, but he was not the only person aboard the _Herald Mark_ who thought that. The entire crew had seen the sogging, furred beast clamber up to the main deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ and dare to look Davy Jones dead in the face. And, to their great surprise, the beast was not struck down, nor did it lash out upon the captain.

Norrington watched through his own spy glass, staring as the face of the monster came into view. "What the..." He paused, seeing the metallic shine blazing off of the golden mask. "Gold..."

xxxx

"I have come to claim your heart, Captain Davy Jones."

His crew drew near onto him again, protective of their captain. The tentacled man just smirked slightly, allowing one of those octopus bits to curl around his finger. The men reached for their blades, their daggers and knives. They had given up their immortality for another 100 years alive for Davy Jones. His heart, his life, it kept them alive. They would never dare to allow this demon to attack him.

The pirate smirked. "And, so, this is the fair warrior the lady has sent after my heart." He glanced to the crew around him. "What makes you so sure your lady has granted ye the power to take it? You do appear to be outnumbered and most certainly out gunned. The advantage is mine, fair lady."

The beast lifted her mask, revealing the visage of the beautiful warrior. "My lady trusts in my capabilities and my determination to full fill my contract with her."

"Pretty, pretty," one the crewman sneered.

The others took a step forward, encouraged. Excepting all the of the people they had crushed under the feet, the crew hadn't set eyes on a woman since before they had agreed to join Davy Jones's crew. For some, it had been close to a hundred years since they'd seen a lady. Sygne could almost feel their hot breaths and hungry eyes upon her and her body. And, where it not for that, they had most certainly noticed with their greedy hearts the golden mask and talons.

A second crewman looked to his captain. "Can we have 'er?"

Davy Jones gave no response, and the crew stepped forward lustily. The creature perched on their deck rail moved not a muscle. A cannon fire just beneath the warrior's feet, but, still, the remained unmoving. Instead, the warrior allowed the crew to draw closer, nearer. Davy Jones watched with curious amusement, knowing the skill of the warrior had to be either truly great or truly lacking for her to wait so patiently.

Another stepped forward, a more human looking one with an orange starfish waving from above his right temple. "No." The man shook his head and looked up the creature with regard. "Cap'n's orders?"

Davy Jones glanced to him. "Y'want 'er for yerself, eh, Bootstrap Bill?"

"No," the man shook his head. Sygne caught the sight of the most subtle of motions from him as the pirate produced something low. "It's only fair that the captain have his go first." The warrior tried not to look at the small, bone knife, drawn by the pirate. "Manners and all."

"I know what ye're up to, Bootstrap," the monstrous, Cthulu-like face peered into Bill's accusingly. "An' sweet talkin' me won't make up for lettin' yer lying whelp of a son get away."

Boostrap Bill shook his head. "I would never assume such things, Cap'n."

"Liar," a crewman growled.

The pirate shouted now, angry; the starfish squeezed tight, as if it too were enraged by the insult. "No, no!" Bootstrap glared. "Come and call me a liar to m'face!" He drew the knife and brandished it in rage. "Come call me liar!"

The warrior took her chance while the crew was distracted and hurled herself upon Davy Jones. Her long fingernails clawed at him, at his coat and shirt. Jones just laughed maniacally at the woman and let her tear open the long, aged, salt soaked jacket. His tentacles reached out and stuck upon her skin. In an instant, the pruned, dead, and decaying hands of the crew clamped down around her arms, pulling her from off of their captain. However, it was not before Sygne ripped open the captain's shirt and threw aside those tentacles that they managed to pry the woman from off of the monster. Her eyes went wide as the crew threw her up against the deck rail and pinned her there.

Davy Jones laughed heartily in her face as he climbed up. Sygne stared in horror at the gaping hole in the pirate's chest. Deep within, the could see his lungs expanding and contracting sharply with each boisterous laugh. As he stood, those long tentacles did up the buttons on his shirt and coat.

"Wasn't quite what ye were expecting lass, was it?"

xxxx

It took Jack a moment to shake loose his terrible shock. He remembered. And, more than remembered, the pirate knew. He knew what Elizabeth had done to him. Will, Elizabeth, Barbossa, Gibbs, all of them. They were all lying to him, hiding the truth from their old captain. His head swam, but there was the pressing urgency of Will Turner holding him back.

"How could ye?" Jack Sparrow demanded, almost spitting in the younger man's face in rage.

Will's brow furrowed. "What? I don't know what you're talking about, Jack."

The pirate shook his head. "Stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying. I honestly don't know what you're talking about," the man shouted.

Jack slammed hard into Will's chest, knocking his once friend back and away from him. The blacksmith fell back and away from him, confused and worried. Jack reached for his pistol, but didn't find it. They were good. A cannon ball smashed into the rigging overhead. One of the main sails came crashing down upon them, engulfing them in a billowing cloud of crimson fabric.

"Bugger."

Jack turned to run and scramble out from under the sail, but a hand clamped onto his ankle suddenly and sharply. The pirate came crashing down, his chin smashing into the deck. He reached up, rubbing his braided beard.

The pirate turned to see Will's exasperated face. "Jack, what's happened?"

"Will, ye've been a good sod, but ye're a terrible liar." Jack kicked out, crushing the blacksmith's hand under his heavily booted foot. "Let me go."

"No!"

The pirate kicked out again. "Please let me go."

"I can't," Will looked at him with fear in his eyes. "I don't know what's happened to ye Jack, but you're not well." The blacksmith blinked. "Something went wrong when we brought you back."

"The only thing that went wrong was when yer bonny lass killed me!"

Will's eyes widened. "What?" Jack crawled out from the sail, but Will just slashed a hole in the fallen sail and jumped up through it. "Jack, what happened?"

In a rare moment of silence, a pause between the rumble of cannon volleys, the pirate shouted it out for all to hear, "She left me for dead, Will! Ye're pretty little miss chained me up and left me as bait for the kraken!" Will shook his head. "Oh, yes, Will. She did it. She killed me! Elizabeth killed me!"

All eyes fell upon Elizabeth, and Jack took his chance, jumping from _El Cazador_.

xxxx

"It's a girl," Norrington breathed.

His first hand just gaped in awe that a mere lady would attempt to bring Davy Jones low. None of them had anticipated seeing such a visage appear from beneath the mask. She struggled there, held prisoner by the most bloodthirsty crew on the Caribbean's waters.

"We have to save her," the first mate breathed.

"Take down the _Dutchman_."

xxxx

"What do we do with 'er, 'en?"

Sygne gritted her teeth, snarling and growling like a caged beast. She hissed and spat, writhing and wriggling in the hold of the man of the _Flying Dutchman_. However, there were too many, and they were too strong. They held her back from her prey while Davy Jones lingered just out of her reach.

Bootstrap Bill looked to his captain. "Who sent her? Who would know and would send someone after yer heart?"

Jones nodded, stroking his tentacle beard thoughtfully. "Only one woman."

"Who?" Bootstrap pressed, anxious.

But Davy Jones did not answer. "Signal the men, raise the flags, and make for open seas." He glared at the woman. "They don't have the heart here if she's lookin' for it." The man drew close. "Y'know, ye can always turn in yer contract to her and serve a hundred years before the mast at my side."

The warrior shook her head fiercely. "No. I serve only my lady."

"Y'would be serving yer lady now if ye were aiding one of her own servants, now, wouldn't ye?" Jones pressed. "Never had a woman, let alone one of the Valkyrie, on this ship. M'crew-" he glanced to the overly devilishly gleeful men circled about her, all those who could spare a moment from their post. "-would most enjoy yer presence and kindly company." He bound her hands soundly with harsh lashing. "It's been quite some time since they'd had the pleasure of a woman..."

"My lady Hel shall find you and take back your heart."

He let out a chuckle and looked to the crew. "Overboard with 'er."

Sygne would not scream as they hurled her into the air and into the waters. She would never allow the barbarous captain the pleasure. No. The warrior would never allow any man the pleasure. She would not, could not.

The waters swallowed her up.


	24. The Four Horsemen

RED SKY

"Do we follow?"

The _Flying Dutchman_ was coming about, turning away from Port Royal. It had as soon as the girl had been tossed from the ship. Something had spooked Davy Jones. If it was bad enough to frighten the immortal captain, it was bad enough.

Norrington shook his head and looked to the city in ruins. "No. Make for land."

xxxx

"Dive deep, keep swimming, don't let 'em get ye, Jack, old boy."

The repeated the mantra over and over again in his mind steeling his resolve and fueling his muscles. They ached and his lungs burnt from holding his breath so very long. Jack had thought Hel made them immortal until their contract ran out. Apparently, not even death, herself, could stop time and stop fate from interceding in the lives of men.

Still, the pirate swam on. He couldn't back. He could never go back. Elizabeth had tied him out to die, and the others had lied to him, betrayed his trust. A captain was nothing without a crew, and Jack Sparrow had become a captain without a crew. Who knew what they had been planning? Jack Sparrow didn't know, and he didn't care. Whatever they had been plotting, if they worked with Barbossa, they had to be up to no good. He understood now why Sygne and Tia Dalma had pressed so hard for him to remember; they wanted him to know the deception.

Jack could have kicked himself right then and there as he swam for not listening closer to Tia Dalma. Years of going to her for advice with trinkets of small power or curios from distant lands should have taught the man better. Tia Dalma knew said anything straight out, but her words were often laced with clues and shadow truths.

Musket balls pierced the water around him. The pirate jerked hard to one side to avoid being hit. The man glanced upward, watching as the ships doubled back and began to circle about one another again. Then, the _Dutchman_, with her rotted out hull turned tail, putting her rudder to Port Royal. The larger ship, most certainly the brigantine, _Herald Mark_, came about, heading back towards port. However, _El Cazador_, the smaller vessel, persued the cursed ship, still locked in battle. Cannon balls slammed into the water this way and that, almost hitting the pirate.

A noise caught his attention, even underwater. Jack spun around and looked out.

Sygne!

She had been thrown overboard, and the warrior sank fast. Her wrists appeared to be bound, and the warrior thrashed about. A pirate's handiwork. The tiger-striped woman kicked and writhed, her mane flowing in the water like black fire.

And she was sinking fast.

xxxx

Governor Swann recoiled, awaiting the blow that never came. To his shock and great relief, it never came. Instead, a loud trumpet sounded from in the bay, and the shark-man threw his head to one side. The man paused, his mouth hanging upon for a moment. Then, he shook his head in disgust and pointed the tip of his cutlass at the governor's throat.

"This isn't over."

And, with that, the invading party left, just strolling out of town. Governor Swann just gawked as the monsters came out of the wood work and just waltzed out. They left them and walked into open water, disappearing beneath the waves.

He turned his attention to the girl. The flames were almost upon her. He had wasted too much time. Swann rushed to her side and began to pull at the beam again, but it was stuck. Something had pinned the beam down. A bit of rubble crushed it down. Swann pried at the rubble, but he wasn't strong enough. He clawed at the road, hoping to dig her out, but the dirt had been packed down by years of travel into a solid rock, it seemed. The man just shook his head and returned to frantically tugging on the beam.

"Come on, come on," the governor prayed as the cried sobbed. "Please, just..."

"Together then!" A familiar voice called at his side.

Governor Swann glanced to his right to see the former commodore Norrington at his side. The man looked tired and dirty, but still as strong and determined as ever. The privateer gave the governor a quick nod, knocking off some drips of water. He had clearly just swam ashore along with his crew.

Governor Swann nodded. "On three. One." He felt the privateer ease back, readying himself. "Two." The governor drew in a deep breath. "Three!"

Together, they heaved, and, slowly but surely, the beam gave. It lifted just the tiniest bit off of the child, and one of Norrington's crew reached out to pull the girl out. The muscles in Swann's arms screamed in protest and agony, but he held on, straining in effort. The beam slipped a tiny bit in his grasp, but it didn't fall. As soon as she was out from under it, the pair of men dropped the beam and fell to their backs.

Norrington let out an exhausted laugh. "Governor Swann," the privateer greeted before rolling over and climbing to his feet. 'It has been my pleasure to see you again."

Before Swann could say anything, Norrington had run after the monsters.

xxxx

"No..." Elizabeth shook her head in horror as soon as Jack leapt from the sloop.

Will approached her slowly, angrily. The whole crew had above decks had frozen in place. Below decks, where they couldn't hear, the gun gallery still sounded with the booms and roars of cannon fire. But Will, he had heard it all too well. He just strode up the steps, taking them one at a time, quaking with rage. Barbossa saw the anger in his eyes and put an arm before Elizabeth, pushing the woman behind him for protection.

"What did you do?" Will demanded.

Tears streamed down her cheek as Elizabeth shook her head. "I didn't... Will..."

The man shook his head angrily. "What did you do..."

"Now, Mr. Turner," Barbossa held up a hand, stopping the blacksmith. "Don't ye do anythin' rash." He glanced to the woman cowering behind him. "She did it t'save ye and the rest o' the crew. She did what Jack would 'ave done."

"But Jack didn't do it." Will glared at her. "She did."

"An' she has te suffer with that knowledge, everyday of the rest o' 'er life." Will grit his teeth, choking back the lump in his throat. "She wanted to save ye."

Will couldn't save anything, not in defense nor against the woman. The blacksmith had given his immortal soul to Hel for Jack Sparrow, thinking he had done this great thing. He had given his soul so that Elizabeth could be happy, whether it was with the pirate or her fiance. And this was why?

Will glared. "She wanted to save herself." He turned his attention to the _Dutchman. _"Captain, your orders."

"Will..." Elizabeth breathed, feeling her heart collapse.

"Your orders, Captain Barbossa," he asked again, ignored her.

Barbossa gave a solemn shake of his head. "Pursue the _Dutchman_. Kill Davy Jones. Return the heart to Hel."

Will nodded his head tersely. "Aye."

xxxx

Jack finally swam down to her, to the struggling warrior. As soon as his arm curled around hers, he was instantly pulled down by the weight of the metal. The pirate tried to hold her up, to drag the warrior to the surface by his own strength and accord, but the woman was just too heavy and bogged down with all that fur and gold. They were just sinking further and further down to the bottom.

He'd been in this situation once before, with Elizabeth, the traitorous bitch.

Sygne tried to push him away, to send the most clearly mortal pirate to the surface for air, but Jack held tight. He reached about him and found what he'd pocketed so cleverly from off of Will. The barnacle encrusted, pearl handled knife. The pirate pulled up Sygne's wrists and slashed at the bindings. They frayed under his sawing, but would not give.

He coughed, feeling the water crush his lungs. Valuable air bubbles were knocked from between his lips. His eyes could not help but watch them as they rose away from the sinking pair. They were drowning, no question about it.

Jack looked to Sygne; her eyes held such determination as the warrior mouthed the word, "Go."

The pirate shook his head. He sawed more furiously at the bindings, desperate now. His heart pounded in his ears as the pressure mounted. Each beat sent pangs running through his head. Sygne just closed her eyes, as if prepared and ready to die in this watery grave. But Jack, he was not ready to just give up. He'd been hauled back from the underworld by those traitors. He would find the heart, present it to Hel, and kill those who forced him into the contract.

Especially darling Elizabeth. He'd seen her scream for mercy before he gave up.

The lashings gave in one, swift motion, but a stream of blood issued forth as Jack accidentally sliced the warrior's hand. He didn't have time to worry about that. As soon as the rope snapped, Sygne's dark eyes flashed open. She kicked out suddenly and swam with all the was worth. Jack and the warrior cut through the water like fish.

The surface was so close, so very close now.

Jack's lung felt about ready to pop as his ears did with gleeful little snaps. They swam with all their strength. His legs burnt with effort, but the air within him seemed to carry the pirate up. They broke the water with a tremendous gasp from both of them. Both the water logged creatures gulped down air, sweet and cool.

Jack looked to the warrior for a moment. "Sygne..."

Her black eyes met his stare. "You should have left me."

"Yeah..." The pirate looked to the horizon, as the _Dutchman _slipped beneath the waves and _El Cazador_ tried in vain to keep up her hunt. "But ye've been the only person that's been honest t' me. And ye can never trust an honest man, honestly."

Sygne smiled, almost falling into his arms. "You should have gone ashore."

Jack shook his head. "Not when I need yer help, love."

"What for?" she demanded as they treaded water.

"We're going fer blood once we get that damned heart."

Sygne just fell silent. The two swam ashore without ever saying a word. It took some time after their near drowning to make it to the sandy beaches of Port Royal. When they did, the pair just laid there, panting with exhaustion, staring up at the sky. Jack's heart pounded heavily, but he thanked the heavens for proof he was still alive, proof he was still Captain Jack Sparrow. The man closed his eyes, feeling the grit of the sand against his back and the spray of the ocean's mist in his face.

"I'll make 'em pay, love," he whispered the silent oath to the warrior.

The tiger-striped one rolled to her side. "When seeking vengeance, dig two graves. One for yourself, Jack Sparrow."

"Quite right!"

A pistol cocked in Jack's ear. He would have cursed, where the pirate still dazed from the swim ashore. Instead, the man just looked over to his side and up the arm of Lord Cutler Beckett. The nobleman grinned a horrible, despicable smile at the pirate before him. Jack glanced around as a circle of armed guards swooped about them, rifles pointing at them.

The pirate shook his head. "Oh, bugger."

xxxx

A/N Oh nos! It was the chapters you were waiting for! What happens when Jack Sparrow and Will Turner find out the truth about Jack's rather untimely demise? Oh nos! Hope you've all been enjoying the ride thus far. So, do we have a bloodthirsty Jack Sparrow on our hands? Is this the end of swooning over him? Well... we might have a bloodthirsty Jack Sparrow on our hands, but that by no means implies that we have to stop swooning over him. And what will Beckett do now that he's got Jack and Sygne? Will they ever find the heart of Davy Jones and free themselves from Hel's contract?

dramatic music

Find out in our next installment... which... judging by how much of a climax we're at and how much I can't resist writing climaxes, will probably be tomorrow. Cheers!


	25. Fool's Errand

RED SKY

The cell was small, but rather familiar feeling. Jack Sparrow had been there before, once or twice, locked away by Norrington's hand. But, this time, it was different. Lord Cutler Beckett had stumbled across the pirate and the warrior on the beach in the wake of a pirate attack. The head of the East India Trading Company had been after Jack for some time; he would not allow the pirate to slip so easily through his grasp as Governor Weatherby Swann and Commodore James Norrington had in the past.

He gave the cell a casual stroll, observing what the jailers had learned from previous mistakes. This cell lay deeper in the prison, with solid walls and no windows. The bars were thicker, stockier, and chained on both sides since Will had taught the pirate the trick with the hinges and leverage. The beds in this cell where stone platforms with hard pallets stuffed with cotton for a mattress, leaving no hope for finding tools there. Other than that, the cell remained unfurnished save the small bucket off to the side which had a rather clear, and foul purpose. It was lit by torches and lanterns kept well out of reach on the other side of the hall, across from the cell. Four armed guards, all henchmen loyal only to the East India Company, stood outside of the cell, well out of his reach. Down the hall, British soldiers in their crisp, red uniforms stood watch. He gave a nod of approval, noting how Cutler had learned in previous dealings with Jack Sparrow to never be too careful.

The pirate looked to himself, now, careful not to be too obvious. Jack scratched his head, feeling for the bone knife, but they had apparently found and taken that in the rush to get them locked up. The pirate stood tall and felt about it belt, but everything had been snatched from there, too, including, much to the pirate's displeasure, the magical compass. The pirate sat back and reached down his boot to satiate a non-existent insect bit, but came up empty handed while searching for his boot knife. They'd taken everything in such a flash, Jack hadn't realized Beckett's henchmen.

The pirate sighed and flopped back. This was only a temporary setback, Jack reminded himself. Soon, he would have them freed by some miraculous luck and small trick, and they'd go after the heart. Not long now.

Jack glanced to Sygne. The warrior sat cross-legged upon the floor, the backs of her hands resting lightly upon her knees. Somehow, damn them, Beckett's mercenaries had managed to steal away her golden talons and all of her weapons. However, they hadn't found whatever clasp of lock would release the gold mask and were forced to lock her up with it, two cells down from Jack, so that they could not conspire together. Stripped of the fur bindings about her arms and legs, Sygne looked more and more like the lithe, athletic, and graceful woman Jack had seen beneath it all. He also hadn't been expecting the tiger stripes to run all the way up and down her. They'd left her with her leather armor, much like a corset about her chest, and her browned, aged, leather pants. Despite being disarmed and practically stripped of her warrior vestiges, Sygne still looked as proud and as fierce as ever.

Things seemed hopeless when Lord Cutler Beckett strolled in, dragging a half-dead man with him. Jack and Sygne jumped to their feet. The pirate had never seen Beckett do anything of any real strength, but the head of the East India Company had been known to bandy about threats. Sygne's eyes went wide we she saw the mystical skill of her lady and her contracts wrapped about the dead body of Isaac, the bartender in the world's oldest tavern.

Beckett hurled the bartender in the center cell and slammed the door behind him, sure to lock Isaac in. "Intriguing, isn't it, that death no longer holds this man prisoner, while I do?" Beckett seemed to be asking both Sygne and Jack and neither at the same time. "Don't you think it queer?"

Jack grinned madly. "I do believe, in life, that there are many a queer thing an' a queer body." The pirate leaned against the bars before Beckett. "Ye, perhaps, could be one of 'em, for instance."

"Bullying and slander will do you no good service, Jack Sparrow. All of the cards are in my favor and in my hand." The man drew close, giving a shifting, devious glance to the warrior in the third cell as Sygne just glared with all the menace and rage of a cornered lioness. "I hold the heart of Davy Jones." The man lifted an eyebrow, sensing that Jack was bluffing that the heart held no value to him. "I have your new lady friend." A chill ran up the pirate's spin, and Beckett saw that. "And I know about your island excursion."

Jack's eyes shifted to Sygne. The warrior paced now, up and down the iron bars of her cell. Her head hung low and almost predatory. She seemed to be stalking, more and more like the tiger the woman so emulated. A dull growl seemed to be coming from her, obviously having heard the comment.

The image of her, cantering about on the black horse flooded into his mind, unbidden. He saw her, with her mask tipped down, her legs around the girth of the ebony stallion. He saw the woman as he had that one night as just the glamour of the island, a spell and a trick of the eyes. But some part of her had been there, dancing among the other warriors in an equestrian ballet, while the seemingly thousands of young girls watched on with their blue lantern light. Hel's island held not only the goddess of death and her well of souls, by so many innocents in the form of the young priestesses.

He knew then, and there, that Sygne would give her life to protect her sisters.

Jack thought of Tia Dalma, what the oracle had said to him. Tia Dalma herself had been one of the sisters of that Avalon like island. The people there, the ladies of the island, they were defenseless save for the protection of their lady, Hel. Tia Dalma had asked him to protect the ladies. And Jack? He had almost promised her. But, seeing the warrior pacing so, stalking Beckett like a large predatory cat, the pirate made a silent promise to keep the girls and women of that island safe from harm.

Jack squeezed a tight fist, ready to punch Beckett if that short man came near enough. "Come again?"

"I know about the island, where even death stops to bow before a mistress," Beckett announced so very pointedly. He patted Isaac on the cracked skull through the bars with a sort of glee. "Oh, yes, I know about the island. We took so much gold off of that one, there, that no one could help but know after that." Beckett laughed. "An island of riches beyond your wildest dreams."

"You know nothing," Sygne barked, defensive of her home and her sisters.

Beckett turned on his heel and slickly stepped towards the caged warrior. "Yes, my dear, there are a few things in this world I do know nothing about." His eyes roved up and down her striking body, over the dark, ebony tattoos. "You, are one of those rare curios which I have no knowledge of. You're no citizen of Port Royal, nor the Crown, nor any crown for that matter. No one seems to know anything about you."

Sygne dipped her head slightly. "I am a ghost."

"A ghost?" The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Then, I would truly love to further our acquaintance, my dear."

"I am a shadow truth, but the faintest trace of reality," the warrior asserted proudly, standing taller and flexing her muscles. "I am merely a servant, and, as such, am below your notice."

"You bear a small fortune for a servant."

"S'just a story, a fairy tale. Nothin' real," Jack cried out, drawing Beckett's attention back upon him. He flashed a golden smile. "I know what ye want. You want to control the heart of Davy Jones and his kraken. Am I right, or am I right?"

Beckett smirked a tiny smile. "Ah, so you are keeping abreast of local events."

"Any success?" the pirate almost sang the question.

"No" the tradesman admitted. "But, I was hoping you and I could come up with an equitable agreement to solve that predicament." The man raised a suggestive eyebrow. "A trade if you will?"

"Ah trade, 'en, is it?" Jack demanded confidently.

Beckett placed his hands behind his back, trying desperately to look presentable and formal in these business affairs. "You assist in unlocking the secret of the heart of Davy Jones, and I will release your lady friend." Under a cock of Jack's head and a strange glance, the man paused and rephrased himself. "I will release you with a full pardon for so long as you remain loyal and true to the East India Trading Company."

Jack looked to Sygne as she stalked back and forth again; he thought of the heart and the unimaginable power it bore. "No deal. Sorry, mate." Jack glanced to Sygne. "Not unless she goes free first."

"No." Sygne screamed at the pirate. "You cannot do this, Jack Sparrow."

"A servant should be rarely seen and never heard," the pirate snarled, hoping the warrior would take the hint and keep her mouth shut. "What d'ye say? How's about you an' me go somewhere private, like maybe yer office, an' talk?"

Beckett turned to his men and gave a small nod. The guards took some shackles from off of the wall and held them out to Jack. The pirate sighed heavily and placed his arms out. The guards unlocked both the chains upon his cell and began to shackle Jack with the iron manacles. The pirate turned his head away as they did, but, when their hands fell away, Jack let his arm come down in a small, drooping arc, hoping there was something, anything he could pickpocket off of the henchmen. His fingers found purchase on something hard and secreted it away.

As they led him from the cell, Jack looked to Beckett for a moment. "May I just have a moment with the girl?" The pirate grinned mischievously. "She bein' me servant an' all."

"I suppose, so long as it is decent and proper."

Jack gave a small nod and stepped down the hall gingerly, on light, lilting feet. Sygne approached the front of the the cell and the captain with menace in her eyes, her teeth bared ever so slightly. But Jack just flashed that coy, devilish smirk of his and held out his arms as far as the jingling chains would allow.

"Come 'ere and give us a hug," he said devilishly. Reluctantly, Sygne did, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist and tuck the stolen item into her waist band. "Ah, that's my love." He leaned close to her, pulling Sygne in as tight as the bars would allow, drawing in the deep, rich scent of animal hide. "Thank ye, kindly."

"You are giving up your new life?" Sygne whispered. "Why?"

"I 'ave to." Jack whispered into her ear so only the warrior could hear. "Wait for me, savvy?"

xxxx

They hastily put as much distance between _El Cazador_ and Port Royal as possible. The British Royal Navy would be hot on their heels, as well as the East India Trading Company. They were, after all, known and wanted pirates with bounties on their heads. And they had, after all, just been involved in the attack and destruction of Port Royal.

Will stood at Barbossa's side the whole time, even as the captain sent Elizabeth down below to the captain's quarters.

The older man looked to his first mate. "She did what she 'ad te do 'en."

"No. There were other options," Will said, shaking his head. "There are always other options in any situation. She did not have to have to murder him."

"It was not murder!" Barbossa cried out. "It was sacrifice."

The blacksmith looked to his captain. "Murder. by another, more colorful and choice name, is still murder. A man was killed by her hand, and, to the worse, she lied to me. And she..."

Barbossa furrowed his eyebrows for a moment. "She what?"

Will just shook his head. "Never mind."

Barbossa nodded.

xxxx

The seas spread out before him, long and dangerous, treacherous as the gods themselves. Tiny ships were tossed about here and there, amid the great continents. The winds and the waves raged as though Poseidon were upset.

"_Full fathom five thy father lies;_

_Of his bones are coral made;_

_Those are pearls that were his eyes:_

_Nothing of him that doth fade_

_But doth suffer a sea-change_

_Into something rich and strange_," Beckett's voice seemed to dance and alight

They were alone in that grand office of Beckett's, and his voice echoed loudly. Beckett had been sure to shoo away all of his guards and henchmen, allowing the two of them to be in peace to talk. He needed answers from Jack, honest answers.

"Sounds pretty," Jack said with a shrug, still gazing upon the great, hand painted map as the artisan gently adorned the last final details on the compass rose. He looked to the desk, noting that his compass lay closed upon the great, wooden thing. "But s'jus' pretty words."

The trader poured two brandies and offered one to the captain. "It's Shakespeare." Beckett shook his head as Jack swigged back the drink in one gulp, the chains clanking against the tiny, fragile glass. "Really, it is that quote, Act II, Scene 2, of the _Tempest_, that so inspired me to attain the chest of Davy Jones and take control of the Caribbean trading operations." Beckett reached his hand out towards the map, as if encircling the Caribbean Sea and squeezed it into a ball. "The very essence of such flowered language could drive a man to do anything."

"Still jus' pretty words to a pirate like me," the captain said, slamming the glass down upon the mahogany desk. "And we're not 'ere to talk pretty words." The pirate looked to the tradesman. "We're 'ere to talk business."

"But of course," Beckett replied, gesturing for Sparrow to sit across the desk from him. "What sort of business did you wish to offer?"

Jack just sat back and propped his booted feet on the desk. "Let me see it."

Lord Cutler Beckett gave a small nod, knowing what Jack spoke of. The pirate had to see it, that lump of dead flesh. The pumping, the hideous, terrible, loud, and awful beat of that damned heart pounded in his head. It would be enough to drive a sane man mad, but Jack was neither a sane man, nor a mad man. Jack was a pirate, and a drunkard at that. Instead, he listened to the thumping of the heart, watching curiously as the world seemed to beat in time with the beats.

Beckett produced a platter, covered by a hurricane glass. On it, on a white piece of parchment, sat the still beating heart. It was just as horribly beautiful as it had been the last time Jack had seen it.

"So, Mr-" The pirate raised an eyebrow at Beckett. "Captain Jack Sparrow, my apologies. What can you tell me about this heart and your ability to still draw breath despite so many reports of your untimely demise."

Jack didn't waste a second. He quickly drew upon all his strength and threw himself across the desk, grabbing Beckett. The pirate slammed the trader's head hard into the solid mahogany with a meaty thump. Beckett went limp in an instant. As soon as the pirate's strong grip released on the shirt of the other man, Beckett slumped and slipped down to the floor. Jack moved swiftly searching all of his pockets and finding the large set of keys to unlock both his shackles and the cells below. As soon as Jack was free, he made damned sure to chain Beckett to his own desk.

The heart pounded in his ear like thunder.

Jack looked to it, ever beating, ever alive, despite the fact that it should have been very much dead. There it lay, the key to getting out his contract with Hel. He could just take it and escape, return it to Hel and be done with all of this. But, in his other hand, lay the only means of salvation for Sygne.

"Bugger."

Jack snatched up the heart and wrapped it up in a handkerchief of Beckett's before stuffing the mass of meat and flesh into his shirt. The fallen man moaned slightly, obviously starting to come around and reorient himself. The pirate's time was up. Jack made damned sure to take his compass and stuff it into his pocket. He bolted out the window, into the bushes, into the gardens below.

The heart pumped against his, as some great weight.

Jack had to get rid of it. He couldn't risk bringing it back into Beckett's hands. Not now that they were so close to ending that contract of Hel's. The pirate rushed back, into the woods, to where a small stream trickled behind the fort. It had to be what fed the smaller, outlying parts of Port Royal with fresh water.

Jack scrambled across it, to where two large boulders met one another and formed a sort of lip beneath the rock. There, perhaps, the heart could fit. Harshly, Jack shoved the linen wrapped lump of flesh under the stone, giving it a punch when it didn't fit into place right away. They would be searching for Jack, but, at least now, the heart had been hidden just out of Beckett's reach. No person would expect to find that rare treasure right under their noses.

Then, he turned back, looking at the fort through the jungle.

"I'm comin' for you, Sygne."


	26. Sucker's Bet

RED SKY

The mansion and fort remained quiet. That meant two things. One, Lord Cutler Beckett hadn't yet come to yet and alert his guards. Two, there was still a good chance that the pirate could yet sneak back in.

Jack Sparrow had never been a religious man, not by any manner. In fact, religion had been the one, singular thing that the captain had been sorely lacking in all his years as child after his parents had been killed. Perhaps that was why he'd lost all sense of spirituality and moral decency by all society's definition. Perhaps that was also why Jack had never really cared about his own life or soul in danger.

For such a grand pirate, he held so poorly to the Code. The Captain always seemed to be heading back for a crewman that had fallen behind. He had kept women aboard his ship. Both Elizabeth and, in retrospect Sygne. To make it worse, Sparrow had even started to think of the warrior as a crewman, or, worse, an equal.

Jack just hoped the daft woman had been sane enough to heed his words and wait for him as he came back.

Sparrow had wound his way back down out of the woods to the wall of the fort, near to the grand office he had snuck out of and into the gardens. The pirate pressed himself against the stone foundation and followed it about the long wall to a corner. This had to be the end of the mansion and offices, where the wall drew up taller and thicker, building into the fort.

The cheery sound of fresh, new shoes clipping on the floor met Jack's ears. He turned and glanced over his shoulder curiously. There was a window, just behind him and over his head. It had been carelessly left open, and whit curtains wafted in and out on the light breeze. Jack almost burst out in a fit of laughter that these men had been so utterly stupid to leave that inviting entrance open.

He turned and pressed a keen ear to the stone wall. The steps grew loud for a moment. Then, they receded as the person walked away.

"Perfect."

The pirate captain turned to the window now and took his chance. He sprang on his feet and jumped up. His nimble hands caught the window ledge and the man hauled himself up. He didn't raised himself up all the way, just high enough for his head to pop up above the ledge.

Jack peered inside. The window opened to a long hall lined with rather gaudy paintings in his opinion that would have fetched a paltry price a piece when fenced. There were no options of suitable weapons to take on four armed guards that had remained posted on Sygne and Isaac when Beckett had Jack taken to his office. Two plush chairs rested against the walls, but neither those, nor the picture frames could really be broken down into even a decently strong club or spear.

However, to the pirate's good fortune, there were no signs of any further guards.

Jack gave one last look and another quick scan of the grounds around him before scrambling up and into the window. Slowly, careful not to make a sound, the pirate captain set his feet down on the floor and eased from the windowsill. He tiptoed to the corner of the hall and pressed his back firmly against the elegantly carved and stained wood.

There were footsteps again. Jack drew in a breath and held it. They turned down another hallway it sounded like, moving away from him. Sparrow let out his breath with a sigh before looking down the next hall to continue. The only way to go was right, and, so, Jack went right, turning in towards the center of the fort. This next hall seemed just as nice and elaborate as the last.

Jack's brow knotted. The fort of Port Royal, the last time he had enjoyed a brief respite there, had been set up quite differently. The entire interior had been a working fort, designed as a military installation. This seemed rather more pointedly a combined effort, but definitely not the same place he'd been previously jailed. Beckett had far grander things in mind that advancing the trade of goods and shared cultural experience, that was for damned sure!

A door slammed down the hall he'd just come from. Angry voices sounded not too far away. Jack swore under his breath. Beckett. He had taken too long, and, now, the head of the East India Company had come to. The man would be swift on Jack's tail and quick to lock up Sygne further.

But, first, Beckett's all too familiar voice was coming to him. Jack glanced about and found a cracked door. He threw himself inside and eased the door shut. The pirate listened intently to the hall.

Sure enough, Beckett stormed down the hall, stomping as he went. "I want Jack Sparrow dead and damned sure of it!"

Jack snickered to himself when Lord Cutler Beckett just walked right past him, but held it short as soon as he looked about him. This room had been lined with white cabinets and tables of starched linens. Upon the tables lay the preserved bodies of Jack's former crew. The crew of the _Black Pearl_ when she had been under Barbossa's guidance, the cursed crew that had fallen under Norrington's men, had all been laid out. Their chests had been carved open and covered only by small, linen cloths.

The pirate stared into the horrified, wide eyes of one of his former men, frozen open in a look of terror and suffering. Jack hadn't ever not liked his previous crew. And most certain no man deserved this sort of treatment in death. The captain thought a silent prayer and closed those dead, glossy eyes, surprised to find that they were hard to shut.

"My, my, somebody has been rather naughty," Jack lamented softly.

Sanity overtook him at that moment, and the pirate began to search the room. Under the clean table coverings, Jack found trays of silver instruments. He had seem them only once before when the pirate crew had managed to pool together enough gold to send him to a proper doctor after a raiding party went terribly bad. There were gleaming, razor sharp blades; Jack pocketed those. The rest of the tools looked utterly useless in this situation. The rest of the room held nothing of value. Even the five or six corpses had been pilfered of all weapons.

"Ye've been wonderful company." Jack doffed an imaginary hat at the line of bodies. "Well, gents, long time no see, may it be jus' as long 'fore we meet again."

The pirate checked the hall again and, once he knew it was clear, continued on. He had already lost precious enough time hiding the heart and ducking in with the room of corpses. The heart still beat in his ears, but it had grown softer, duller now, obscured by the rocks and the distance.

He ran down the hall, driven now, but the hall split into a t-intersection. Which way had they come from? Jack couldn't remember. In fact, he didn't remember coming at the office from this direction anyway. Either hall could lead to Sygne or to Beckett. Jack racked his brain for a moment, pulling at his braided beard and thinking. Where Will Turner there, he'd come up with some rather devilishly clever plot using a lever or a pulley, or some form of mechanism. If Elizabeth were there, she'd work her charms against the guards and use them to just take her right to the jail and to Sygne. But he was neither and had to rely on his own wits.

"Think Jack."

Tia Dalma's compass. He had bartered hard for it years ago. And, now that he knew where the heart was, Jack didn't have to worry about finding it or Davy Jones. Jack took it out. He hoped this would work. Jack opened it, watching as the needle swung about and pointed directly back the way he'd come from down in the jungle. The pirate nodded. Of course. The needle pointed to either Davy Jones, or the heart, whichever was closer. But, at that moment, neither mattered much, really.

Jack smirked to himself. This would be easy, or so he hoped. The pirate paused before he did anything. There was no telling what the compass would point to after he did this. The captain gingerly wiped the blood from off the needle. The compass spun wildly about without its given magnet. It went just as off course as it had when he'd been so unsure about actually questing for the chest of Davy Jones.

"Please, please, please, please, please." Jack whispered as he shut the compass. "I know what I want, I know what I want."

When he opened the small trinket, it still spun about.

The pirate slammed it shut again, thinking, concentrating. He imagined her, Sygne. She was the everything of the wilderness. The wild, ancient creatures of the universe haunted her and her eyes. The tigers and lions lived within her. He pictured her as clearly as he had just seen her not fifteen or twenty minutes ago, pacing nervously in that cell. He saw her in the back of his mind, prowling.

"I am waiting for you, Jack Sparrow."

His eyes flashed open. Had that been in his mind? No, it couldn't have been. It sounded so real, but there were no one in the hall. Jack gave a nod of his head and opened the compass, watching in awe as the compass steadied and pointed to the left, just as a group of armed mercenaries in the blue, East India Company, guards uniforms came into view.

Jack thanked Sygne as the guards drew their weapons and aimed. He pocketed the compass and threw himself into a tumble. As Jack came up, those silver knives he'd pocketed from the other room slipped from his fingers. His deadly arm landed those blades in the shoulders and upper legs of the guards. They fell to the ground in a heap, all three of them. Jack grinned. Non-fatal wounds, but definitely something that would keep them incapacitated.

Jack moved in a flash, feeling the feral hold over from the animal side of all humans. He rushed the fallen men, grabbed a rifle and smashed each of their skulls in succession with it.

The pirate smiled as he took up their arms, ammunition, and powder. "Many thanks to all for yer... generous donation." He opened the compass, watching the needle change directions again, to the right, this time. "Ah! That's the way, 'en."

Jack continued down the hall, more cautious now. At the end of the corridor, the needle turn to the left, pointing again towards the interior of the fort, and to a dark, stone staircase. Jack peered down, but saw nothing in the shadows. It was narrow, not the best place for fighting armed guards. He drew a deep breath and descended into the shadows.

Sparrow double checked the compass. "Lead me t' 'er."

xxxx

Elizabeth watched from her window as Port Royal drifted to the horizon. They'd lost the _Flying Dutchman_ and Davy Jones, and she'd lost her fiance. The woman had done something truly terrible, and she knew it. Elizabeth had been just hoping to skate through all of this and return the heart before Will ever had the chance to learn about what she'd done. And, in truth, Elizabeth had hoped Jack would never know what she'd done.

She looked to Port Royal, knowing what had to be done. Elizabeth nodded and took the quill pen from the desk and began to write upon one of the backs of the overly detailed letters the previous captain had kept. She scrawled, almost ready to cry, as she left the note for Will.

And, then, Elizabeth left as quickly and as quietly as she could.

However, Captain Barbossa had seen her. Barbossa knew the ship, her inner workings, and her whole crew like the back of his hand. He had to. All captains had to know full well everything that went on onboard and to be completely intimate with his ship. He watched as Elizabeth rowed in the tiny boat back towards Port Royal, giving her a slight nod and breathing a silent prayer.

"God speed, Miss Swann."

xxxx

The cellars leading down to the jail were just as dank and wet as the cell itself. Jack had to be on the right track. The pirate drew one of the pistols he'd taken from the guards and trained in about in the stone corners.

He heard voices. "I'm sorry, sir, but we haven't found any trace of the escapee."

"He is loose and here, somewhere. He has to be," Beckett growled. "And he has the damned heart. Find him." The man paused. "And you! You shall do well to know that, despite your amusement at all this, he will be caught and hung for this."

Jack smirked. Sygne. She had to be finding all of this all fun and well.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Jack drew back, and into the darkness around him. He held his breath as a group of guards came down the steps and into the darkness with him. Jack froze there, waiting for them to pass, as they moved down the corridor towards Beckett. The pirate took his chance and moved in their wake, keeping as silent as possible and using their clambering noise to mask his steps. When they came to the torch light, Jack hung back, straying to where the light could not reach. He grinned to himself; the guards had let him right back to Beckett and Sygne's cell.

"Sir, Sparrow attacked and took down three men."

Beckett drew silent for a moment. "Then, don't you think you should find him before he finds you?"

The pirate grinned wider now, tucking back into the darkness as all of the guards dispelled, all of them trucking away from the cells and away from Jack. The left Beckett unarmed and unprotected. Jack waited for a moment until the guards had all left before just bursting out, pistol drawn. However, Beckett was just as swift, drawing his own pistol and aiming it below Jack's chin just as the pirate did the same thing. They stood, mirrored men.

"Thought you could get the jump on me?" Beckett teased, cocking the pistol at the pirate. "I am twice the man you are, Jack Sparrow."

"If I be half the man ye are, then I be twice the pirate! An' it takes half the rum to make m'fill," Jack retorted, just confusing the tradesman, much to the pirate's great pleasure. "And, now, all the cards are in my hand." He gave a small, waving gesture with his left hand, producing an ace of spades from nowhere. "Y'see, I've got something you don't."

"The heart," Beckett replied cooly. "I know you have it." The man turned his head to one side and glanced to Sygne, who still prowled as a caged feline. "I assume you are going to propose a trade, now."

Jack shifted his weight. "Ah, I was wonderin' when ye'd get to that."

"The terms, Mr. Sparrow?"

"Ah, it's Cap'n Sparrow," Jack replied. "An' the term is my life, for my lasses." He gave a little, mock wave at Sygne. "You release 'er, an' I release ye."

Beckett curtly nodded. "Your life for hers? What of the heart?"

"Jack Sparrow," Sygne breathed; she gently lowered the item he had so carefully and elusively slipped into her position, holding the dagger low and out of the way where Beckett's eyes could not see. "Jack Sparrow, you cannot allow this so-called man to hold the heart of Davy Jones."

"You will see well to keep hold your tongue," Beckett glared. "What of it, Sparrow?"

"I keep the 'eart until such time as t' be fer certain that ye've kept good on your end of the bargain." The pirate thought for a moment of Barbossa, keeping the bluff just as sharp this, the second time he'd try it. "Then, when me and me girl are nice an' safe, I'll shout where the 'eart is t' ye." Jack pulled the key ring from his pocket and swung it about a dirty finger. "What say ye?"

Beckett pressed the muzzle of his pistol into Jack's neck. "How am I to be for certain that the location you tell me is the right one? I know about this island of yours."

"I 'ad not forgotten."

Beckett nodded. "Then, by all means, after you, Captain Sparrow."


	27. Parallel Lines

RED SKY

"I must be stupid, I must be..."

Elizabeth swore to herself with each and every deep stroke of the paddles. The waves were catching the tiny little rowboat now, pushing it closer and closer to Port Royal. But, with each passing stroke, Elizabeth brought herself further and further from her love, from Will.

Or, was it closer?

Elizabeth didn't know anymore, but she knew she had to find Jack and save him, somehow, if only from himself. The woman knew she'd thrown away everything, her whole world. She threw away Port Royal, her father, and her life as a noblewoman the very day she donned a man's garb and stowed away aboard a ship after her doomed husband and friend. Elizabeth cast aside any honest life with William Turner the moment she began her lies. And, to make matters worse, she shucked off her own moral values the day Elizabeth left Jack to die as bait for the kraken. Elizabeth marveled at the creature she'd become, no better than Davy Jones in all truth and honesty.

The woman watched sadly as the crimson sails of _El Cazador_ carried the ship away from her. It bore away her fiance, and her hopes of ever being able to just love and be married like a normal woman. It took her love from her.

But Elizabeth knew how to get it back.

"I must be daft to be going after you, Jack."

xxxx

Everything seemed to be under control. Norrington had been rather surprised that Davy Jones's monsters gave up so easily and left Port Royal without so much as a great fuss. However, that was not to say that the privateer was displeased. It made life so much simpler and easier. Even the fires were under control.

Somewhere, in the midst of things, James Norrington had lost Governor Swann.

He made sure that everything had been taken care of, as much as possible, and that all the citizens of Port Royal who still drew breath were tended to before leaving them. Norrington slowly strode towards the site of the largest commotion, where a group of soldiers bustled about. Surely Governor Swann would have sought refuge in the fort to regroup and reorganize the troops to best serve his people in this crisis. Norrington didn't look forward to facing uniformed officers of the British Royal Navy, granted his rather dodgy history, but his honor forced him to go and offer both his and his crew's aid.

Norrington swallowed his pride as he walked down the path, but, as soon as he heard the familiar sound of a voice he knew and loathed, the privateer paused. He ducked back, into the undergrowth, and approached slowly. The earth beneath his feet faded to sand as Norrington followed them down and to the beach.

"Jack Sparrow."

xxxx

"No, no, no!"

Elizabeth screamed as the tiny boat capsized under a wave. The woman kicked out her legs and grabbed hold of the boat, pulling her head above water and coughing out the saltwater.

She looked about her for anything and found a great ship beside her.

Perhaps she could just con her way into getting a helping hand.

xxxx

The three walked together. None of them said a word. Sygne walked ahead of them as Jack and Beckett strolled side by side, pistols still drawn and pressed under one another's chins. Neither would give up any ground on this one. Not anymore. They would not risk weakness.

Sygne lead as Beckett told her, until they just walked right out of the fort out the back and into the gardens, away from any guards of his. They moved together, in a strange sort of dance, a deadly waltz, through the carefully tended and manicured bushes.The pebbles crunched under their feet at they moved. Jack's heart lifted as the grounds were surprisingly unguarded by Beckett's men. They had to still be hunting about in the fort for the escaped pirate, never thinking Jack could have made it to the outside, let alone take Sygne and Beckett with him.

Down a path and into the trees, they walked down to the beach. Jack began to glance about, obviously searching for a way away from Beckett. He saw it. A ship bearing no colors, but a ship he knew all too well. The _Revenge. _Jack knew Calico Jack and Anne would be somewhat happy to see him and would give them good quarter if needed. The _Revenge_ looked light in the keel; they had to have chanced Port Royal in desperate need of supplies instead of making the haul to Fort de Rocher on Tortuga. The _Revenge_ hadn't been moored too far away; they could swim to it easily.

Jack stopped and looked to Beckett. "We've gone far enough, 'en." The pirate gave a toss of his head towards the ship anchored not too far away. "Me and my girl, our escort is 'ere."

"You are going to leave me here without anything?"

The pirate captain shook his head. "Nay, nay. I'm goin' to leave you 'ere with the promise of a location." He made as sort of running motion with his free hand. "We go on 'at nice ship and shout the name back to you 'ere. Aye?"

"No. You tell me now."

The pirate dipped his head. "The lady goes first, 'en."

"Fine," Beckett conceded with a snarl.

At first Sygne did not move, she stood as tall and as proud as ever; Jack didn't ever look at her. "Swim, Sygne, go for the ship. Tell 'em Jack Sparrow sent ye." The woman tipped her mask down, covering her face, but stayed still. "Go, Sygne." Again, the warrior stayed her ground. "Ye 'ave to. Jus' incase, Lord Beckett 'ere does not 'onor his part of the deal."

Sygne bowed her head and bolted for the water, but Jack didn't hear her swimming at all. Instead, the warrior keenly watched from

"Looks like your servant is quite fond of you, Captain Sparrow," Beckett teased.

Jack gave a shrug. "What can I say? I am most assuredly cursed by an irrepressible charm an' charisma. An' such a burden, but I don't wager ye'd savvy much, aye?"

The tradesman gave a soft laugh. "Much more than you ever could understand." Beckett stared down the sight of his pistol at Jack, keeping careful aim, a marksman's aim up through the jawbone to the brain its self. "Now, she has made her choice to deliberately disobey her master. Really, you should keep her on a tighter leash."

The pirate smirked. "Never could get 'er to sit still long enough."

"At any rate, I have held true to my part of the bargain." Beckett jabbed the pirate lightly with the pistol. "Now, as to your end..."

Jack drew in his breath. He moved as fast as liquid lightning, as swift as the feral creatures of the night, but Beckett had been one step ahead of him. Jack swung his arm up to knock the pistol out of Beckett's grasp, but the tradesman had been waiting for that. Instead of allowing the weapon to go flying, Beckett held to it tighter, squeezing the grip and the trigger at the same time. The shot exploded against Jack's ear with a deafening boom, accompanied by the shrill cry of Sygne's. Bright light flashed before his eyes, blinding him momentarily as the searing hot ball of metal graced his temple. He fell to the ground, the world spinning around him and with him.

"Jack Sparrow!" Sygne cried out, running, slogging through the water.

The pirate had been prepared to come up fighting, drawing forth another of his loaded pistols, courtesy of Beckett's own guards. He aimed and fired, but the man just dodged out of the way. As the trader stepped lightly to the side, Jack saw the former commodore James Norrington come bursting from the undergrowth. His guns were drawn and loaded.

Jack turned, rolling onto his stomach and looking to Sygne. The warrior moved in full stride now, her legs extending as far as they could reach and swallowed up ground. The knife he had given her was out, resting in her right hand at the ready. One of Norrington's pistols sounded, and a tiny splash of water rose at the woman's feet. She leapt like a gazelle, jumping through the shallow, lapping waves.

"No..." he breathed. "Sygne, stay away!"

Norrington rushed past him as Beckett gave the pirate a sharp kick to the ribs. Jack grunted, but, still, he crawled. The sand slipped beneath his fingers as Jack clawed at the beach its self. He could not help but watch as the privateer knelt and took careful aim upon the woman as she flew through the deeper surf now.

"Sygne!"

The gunshot echoed with a harsh crack, and the warrior fell to the water.

"Sygne!"

It was the last thing Jack saw before the jarring thud against his head sent a wave of darkness over him.

xxxx

"Ah, Mr. Norrington, so good of you to join us."

The former commodore stood up slowly. He had been transfixed for a moment as the body of the chimera, or girl, or whatever it was, had been swallowed by the waves in an instant. It should have washed ashore, but, with all the gold weight in that mask, Norrington hadn't been terribly shocked when the body sank beneath the first wave and did not surface again. He had killed a woman, a myth, it seemed.

Beckett's voice broke his daze when he greeted the privateer; Norrington turned to see Beckett standing over the prone form of Jack Sparrow. Beckett gave the pirate another kick to the chest, right to the ribs, but the pirate did not move or struggle. He didn't even make a sound. Judging by the blood staining the butt of Beckett's pistol, he'd been knocked out cold in one, rather carefully placed blow.

"Lord Beckett." The privateer gave a mock salute. "A pleasure to see you again."

"If you wish to earn your keep and retain command of your current vessel, I suggest you quite quickly stow this cargo away," Beckett said coldly, gesturing to Sparrow. "And make haste about it."

Norrington grit his teeth. "Yes, sir."

xxxx

Calico Jack Rackham had not been too pleased with having to make port in that particular area. In truth, he had the name changed on his precious _Revenge_ to mask their identity. Any fool with eyes could see that the ship moored just off the coast was his ship, but no one could truly prove it without boarding now. And that would have just been a terrible mistake.

The ship had run low on even the most basic of supplies and, with Anne's delicate condition, Calico Jack had been forced to bring the_ Revenge_ to port early. However, upon seeing the sorry state of affairs of Port Royal, Calico Jack only regretted the decision more so. Now, they had wasted a day of travel, and, by the looks of things, there were no goods to be found that could ever be spared. Anne would have to wait until Tortuga, now.

Calico Jack had been so very cautious now that he knew about Anne. The pirate captain didn't fancy the idea of waiting until Tortuga. No. Port Royal had been a gamble, true, but it had been their only possible bet. The city lay in ruins. Davy Jones hand had come down swiftly upon it, judging by the damage. He could not risk going ashore for something the pirate knew would not be there in the wake of Davy Jones.

"Put 'er t' sea," he instructed of the crew. "Let 'er stretch 'er legs."

But, as Calico Jack turned to the ship's wheel, he froze in his place. A creature with a golden face, wreathed and covered in dripping, ebony fur. A striped creature, like a tiger, but humanoid in nature. At first, it crouched, dagger drawn and gleaming under the Caribbean sun. Then, it stood tall, on a lanky frame, more and more human by the moment.

"Gods an' demons..." he whispered.

The creature lifted the golden face from off of her, for it was a woman, and revealed the panting face of an obviously tired person.

"I have been sent by the hand of Jack Sparrow." She bowed low. "I beg your mercy and your protection." Her eyes pleaded with him. "Please. I need to find William Turner and _El Cazador_."

Calico Jack smirked. "How curious. Second stray today we've picked out spoutin' the name Jack Sparrow."

"Who is the first?" Sygne inquired.

It was Elizabeth Turner who greeted her, equally as waterlogged. "I was."


	28. Really Bad Eggs

RED SKY

The drink held no taste. Food turned to ash in his mouth. For William Turner, he had become just as cursed as Barbossa and the crew of the _Black Pearl_ had been. The world seemed to dull and lose its colors. Everything around him grew drab and ordinary, jaded and lost. Even the music, despite the fact that Will knew it was a light jig, might as well have been a lamenting dirge.

Barbossa had taken them straightaway to Tortuga, back to the ruined port and the only place they could seek refuge and supplies to regroup. At least, in Tortuga, there were no bounties upon their heads. They could relax in the buccaneer port, drink some ale, and partake to the finer things in life if so needed. Only there could they be free to breathe. The captain had hoped Tortuga's life would invigorate his men, but, at the loss of Jack, the compass, and trust in Elizabeth Swann, his crew could not be so roused.

Will sat at what had become a makeshift tavern of sorts where the old tavern had once been. Barrels and kegs had been rolled out, both full and dry, to serve as stools and tables. Boards where thrown out across some of them to create an actual bar of sorts and shelving. The old girls ran it out of charity now, giving kindness, sweet thoughts, gentle touches, and flowing spirits to whoever sat down and asked for it. Will knew the girls would get back to their old ways sooner or later, but, until then, he could drown his sorrows in pint after pint of "All Sorts."

The band gayly played on in a corner of the remaining foundation. Their tunes lilted and danced as those who could dance dared to sway and step lightly. It was the first time the people only chatted and danced in the tavern instead of fighting.

Will couldn't notice. First, his fiance lied and betrayed him. Then, she ran away. No one had seen hide nor hair of Elizabeth since they fled Port Royal, still giving chase to the _Dutchman_. She had disappeared, somehow managing to slip away in one of the boats. Will wondered what she had been plotting, but he fought hard to not care about her. Still, Will worried for her.

Barbossa slapped him jokingly on the shoulder. "Give 'er time, Mr. Turner. She'll figure things out in 'er own sort."

"That's why I'm afraid of."

xxxx

He waited, hanging there in the dark, dank hold of the brigantine, _Herald Mark_ swaying with each passing wave. The chains that held him aloft jingled slightly with the pitch of the ship. The pirate's wrists were raw and angry from the rubbing of the irons against his flesh, from the weight bearing down. Jack was too weak to even fight it anymore, to even try to hold himself up. His head hung down against his chest.

Jack absently wondered how long he'd been down there, just hanging around limply. No light lit the hold, save the pale glimmer of the deck prisms, sunk into the planks above. The noises above hardly ever changed, as the men under Beckett's command never gave way in their activity to even nightfall. It could have been hours, but, judging from the pangs of hunger in his stomach and the exhaustion in his body, Jack thought it was more like days. If he was left alone, there was a good chance they knew nothing about the island.

Still, when Lord Cutler Beckett descended into the hold, Jack's heart fell. Beckett's face, illuminated by the oil lantern in his hand, held a macabre delight at the pirate captain's suffering. Beckett knew Jack had seen the island, and would take great pleasure in securing the information he needed.

The flame in the lamp burnt brightly in one hand, while the other held a glass filled with some liquid. Beckett held the glass lightly, teasing his captive, running a finger along the delicate rim. Jack hadn't been allowed to eat nor drink anything since his capture, however long ago that had been, and Beckett knew the power he held over the pirate just by holding the drink. The snooty little man just savored every moment of it, of the desire and yearning clearly in Jack's face.

"I would have to bet that you are feeling just a wee bit thirsty now, aren't you?" Beckett spoke with a casual ferocity, playing his hand well.

Jack's parched throat struggled to work. "Aye. A bit."

Beckett held the glass up to Jack's lips, allowing him to drink but a sip. The alcohol warmed the captive man's throat and mouth sweetly, with but a peppery aftertaste. Red wine. Jack had been hoping for rum, but wine would do. As long as it wasn't the poison Sparrow had initially been expecting.

"Thanks, mate."

Beckett gave a curt nod and sat down on a trunk, regarding his captive coolly. "Are you ready to sing me a song, Sparrow?"

"That all depends on what tune ye fancy," Jack quipped as he tried to summon his almost trade marked wit. "What song will ye have?"

"Since you managed to squander my heart, sing me a pretty little song about an island." Beckett leaned forward slightly as he crooned the words, satisfaction flaring in his face as he saw the horror in Jack's. "Sing us a song, little sparrow, about the heart or of a pretty little island, cloaked by a veil of fog and mist. An island of gold and jewels..." The noble paused, as if for effect. "An island, inhabited only by women, where even Death himself sits idly by."

Jack feigned ignorance, but it was too late. "I know no such song."

Cutler Beckett's fist collided with Jack's head before his dazed mind could even register that the noble man of the East Indian Company had left his seat. A thin stream of blood trickled down from his temple, from the cut the blow had delivered. Jack's mind reeled for a moment from the strike.

"Sing about the island."

Jack shook his dizzy head, despite knowing that he'd already told Beckett once of the island and the myth. "Can't say I've ever heard o' it."

Beckett hit him again, harder, splitting the pirate's lower lip. Coppery blood splashed in Jack's mouth. But the captain ignored it as best he could, pausing to spit his own blood back at Beckett. Cutler merely stepped back, away from it. He avoided it so easily and almost gracefully.

"So, my sparrow will not sing?" The so-called gentleman chirped.

Unbidden, the mental image of Elizabeth flashed in Jack's mind. Elizabeth, who had saved him from Commodore Norrington. Elizabeth, who had kissed him so passionately. Elizabeth, who had betrayed him, who left him to die, chained to the main mast of the _Black Pearl _to be left as bait for the kraken. But, this was none of the false faces of Elizabeth Swann. This was not the image of the noble woman, the wife to be, the lying whore. It was the image of her smiling, dancing with him on the beach of that godforsaken spit of land, singing before she conjured the idea to burn the rum. It was the Elizabeth that Jack always had a soft spot for.

"And really bad eggs..." Jack murmured. "Drink up me hearties, yo ho. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me."

Beckett chuckled. "Oh, how clever, Sparrow." Jack thought he heard the rasping of steel, of metal against metal. "I think we can teach you to sing the right tune, yet."

"How about a dirge?" Jack offered mockingly.

The movement was so swift, his eyes couldn't focus on Cutler. The next thing, Jack knew, cold steel plunged through his upper chest. Sparrow gasped, with a sharp intake of suddenly freezing air. The metal drove with both a hot and cold oath, somehow, at the same time. Beckett sent it into Jack, right up to the hilt, just under the pirate's left shoulder. Sparrow's arm tensed as the muscles contracted in excruciating pain. His weight, hanging on the injured shoulder, sent lightning flashes of pain through Jack. Beckett just left the blade there, rubbing against Jack's flesh, cutting his muscle with each rock of the ship and sway of his body. Every subtle shift of the pirate's weight sent whole new pain through him. Jack let his head hang back, staring up into the darkness of the hold, panting heavily. Sparrow gritted his teeth, trying to push past the agony, fighting to stay conscious.

'Focus, Jack, ol' boy, Focus,' he told himself.

Blood. It was the first thing that came to mind when the pirate tried to think clearly. He thought of the warm liquid squeezed out of the wound between his skin and the warming metal of the dagger. A thin stream had managed to ebb out and down his chest, chilling it as rolled down his skin.

Jack forced out a hideously pained laugh. "That's interesting."

Beckett poked at the blade embedded in Sparrow's shoulder. He took such great delight in moving the dagger, watching Jack's face twist and contort into horrific grimaces under only to most delicate of touches. Still, the pirate refused to scream; he merely clenched his jaw shut tighter and resisted the urge to cry out.

"Sing for me, Sparrow," Beckett begged.

Jack grinned weakly. "Oh give me a life that's lived out on the sea, yo ho and a-"

But, Beckett had grown tired of that joke already. He grabbed the dagger in Jack's flesh and gave it a sharp, harsh twist. Sparrow winced.

"Still not the right tune, little sparrow."

Despite his anger and rage, Beckett rather seemed to be enjoying this whole, messy affair. Jack could see it, the macabre and sadistic glee in the supposed noble man's eyes. Cutler loved every moment of his captive's suffering. Those dark eyes sparkled and twinkled as Jack's blood pattered on the wood floor of the hold, mixing with some sea water that had pooled down there, swirling this way and that. Beckett took great pleasure from the torture of Captain Jack Sparrow.

"Still do not wish to tell me all your dirty little secrets?" Beckett asked softly. "Perhaps I should let you think about it harder."

And, with that being said, the man spun around on his heel, his shoes giving a slight, eerie rasp against the wood. Beckett left Hack there, still chained, still swaying. His blade remained deep in Jack's upper chest, just below the shoulder, ever cutting, always sending up new waves of suffering through him. No food. No water or drink save that one sip of wine. Bleeding to death. But, before that, Jack Sparrow would die of thirst, not long from then at all.

Not long, at all.

xxxx

Calico Jack Rackham and his darling bride, Anne, had been too kind to them, in Elizabeth's opinion. They'd been swift to scurry the two women away from Port Royal, hiding them from the British Royal Navy. As soon as Sygne said Jack had sent her, the captain of the _Revenge_ treated the two like princess or ladies of the court. Apparently, the crew of the _Revenge_ had rather liked Jack Sparrow and his tales of intrigue, after having saved him a few times from his own traps. Calico Jack had been good friends with Sparrow, and Anne seemed to have been better friends in a manner of speaking.

Anne took an immediately liking to Sygne, but the warrior remained distant from the whole crew. She seemed to be forever listening to the horizon for something. Elizabeth wondered what the warrior heard.

"What's the bearin'?" Calico Jack inquired of Elizabeth.

The woman sighed. "Tortuga. Please. Will'll be waiting for me in Tortuga."

Calico Jack nodded. "Aye, Tortuga it is, 'en."


	29. Dreamcatcher

RED SKY

_"Will..."_

_It was Elizabeth, her voice, her hair, her beautiful face. It was her, dying and dead. It was her, defenseless at Beckett's hands. Elizabeth had gone back for Jack, gone back for redemption. And Will had just let her go._

_It was Elizabeth dead now._

xxxx

"No..."

He murmured in his sleep. Barbossa shook his head. It was not a good sign. Not at all. William Turner was a man with loyalties divided. Will had drunk himself to sleep, but not a sound one. Barbossa looked to the horizon. Hopefully, when the winds turned that morning, they would bring good fortune and good news.

The captain looked to the woman at his side. "Ah, Miss Scarlet, so good of ye t' join me, 'en."

"Why, Cap'n, the pleasure's all mine."

xxxx

The _Revenge_ had made excellent time to Tortuga. The ship had been lighter in the wind with its low supplies, and the crew had been more that happy to get her moving faster. The pirates were starting to sober up, and they couldn't have that.

And they were worried about Anne, especially Calico Jack. Elizabeth would have never believed pirates to have been so loyal and protective of a woman. However, they practically waited on her hand and foot, tending to her every need, despite the woman's protests. She had a magnetic personality it seemed, quite the polar opposite of the warrior, Sygne, with her chilling distance. However, with all the hustle and bustle about her, Anne found herself curiously drawn to the woman who just seemed to want to be alone.

The woman drew her shawl about her. She'd only found out about her condition a month or two earlier, but Calico Jack had been quick to usher her own of the preferred britches and into proper dresses. The man worried about her too much sometimes. He argued that, while it was an obvious breech of the code to have a woman aboard, no naval officers from any crown would believe a woman in her shape to be a pirate. Should anything go terribly wrong, Anne couldn't be caught, and, at the worst, with her predicament, should she, the pirate couldn't be hung. That still didn't stop Anne from hating the dresses with a passion.

As Tortuga came into sight in the pale, pre-dawn light, Anne approached the warrior, warily. Sygne had been cautious to stay away from the crew, it seemed. The warrior had quickly climbed up the bowsprit and kept to herself up there. Anne worried about the warrior. The _Revenge_ had always been like a family; Anne had never seen someone not get on with the crew.

Sygne peered out, along the waves, to the Isla Tortuga.

"Are you alright?" Anne finally asked softly.

The warrior barely flinched. "I am physically well and uninjured."

The woman snorted, holding back a giggle at that. "That's not what I meant, an' ye know it."

Sygne turned to Anne. "I am in the service of my lady. It is not any concern as per how I am feeling." The warrior glanced down. "In truth, I am far more concerned with Jack Sparrow."

Anne shivered. She had known Jack Sparrow, and known him rather intimately. What female hadn't known Jack Sparrow intimately? Especially not when she was a female pirate. When Anne had first left home and set out on a buccaneer crew, Jack's sharp intuition uncovered her as a woman right away, despite her best attempts at cross-dressing. He uncovered her secret one night with what had seemed like the unusual proposition of one man to another man, to Anne's horror. Anne, being young and somewhat innocent at the time, had been horrified to think of one man bedding another man just as much as to think of being uncovered as a cross-dressing female aboard Jack's ship. However, as the captain revealed that night, he had known all along about Anne's secret. They became good friends up until Jack had introduced Anne to Calico Jack. That was when Anne found her true love, but she would never forget Jack Sparrow.

"Why are you worried about Jack?" Anne asked.

Sygne heaved a heavy sigh. "Lord Cutler Beckett is ruthless at the least and bloodthirsty at the worst. He will stop at nothing to find my island and to exploit my lady for his own ill deeds."

Calico Jack bellowed from the main deck behind them. "Tortuga, ho!"

Anne leaned close to Sygne. "You bring 'em back, ye hear me?"

"I shall," the warrior answered.

"You bring 'im back safe."

xxxx

Fat, drunk, and, thank heavens, not violent.

Tortuga had worked its magic on his crew yet again, Captain Barbossa noted with a mild satisfaction. The girls, the whores and the brothel girls, they'd been quick to take in all the world weary pirates for once. They had offered food, drink, and music the entire evening for all those who managed to drag their carcasses into the old, crumbling tavern. Barbossa had been thankful for their hospitality through the long night and into the morning. He could already smell fresh, hot drinks being boiled over the open fires. Davy Jones had been hard upon the city, but he could never crush the spirits of Tortuga's people.

Giselle smiled warmly at the captain and gave a little curtsy as she handed Barbossa a mug of hot coffee. "S'not all 'at special. Jus' a lil' somethin' from me an me girls."

"An' we're much obliged," the captain said, raising his glass to the woman.

The pirate snatched up another one before Giselle could argue, winked, and strode away with it. Barbossa took great care to thread his way among the slumbered pirates who had just slept where they dropped the night before. It took him some time to actually creep across the field of drunks, but, in time, Barbossa managed to find the person he was looking for.

The pirate set down one of the mugs on the ground beside the sleeping form. It'd been a rough night for Will Turner. Barbossa hadn't slept a wink, keeping a weather eye on the horizon in case Davy Jones should return, and, so, he'd had to listen to Will cry out in his sleep. His first mate had been searching in dreams for her.

Barbossa gave him a shake; Will started. "Is it morning already?"

"Aye. Day star's on the horizon."

Will rolled over. "I had the worst dream."

"I wagered," Barbossa said, handing the blacksmith a mug of coffee. "Heard ye fer half the night."

The blacksmith sat up, shaking his head. "I just... I don't know what to do."

"Seldom do men ever," the pirate captain replied. "Drink up. It'll warm yer bones."

Will looked to the ship. It looked nearly arrived. The crew were still running out the anchors and securely mooring the ship. The sails were being drawn up, and several men were making ready to launch a long boat. It had been neatly presented, but with no colors or markings.

"When did that arrive?"

Barbossa stood. "This morn'." He scratched the back of his neck. "Not too long ago."

Will looked up at his captain. "I'm sorry." Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "I have to leave. I have to find Elizabeth."

Barbossa laughed. "Lad, y'don't have te." He pointed. "She found ye!"

xxxx

His mind wandered.

He was no longer in the dark hold of the _Herald Mark_. No, for the sun's light beat down upon him, warm and comforting upon the captain's face. The pirate's hand were not empty. The soft, smoothly worn wood of the _Pearl_'s helm passed through them, allowed to. His toes didn't scrap the hold's wet floor. Jack's feet were firmly planted on the deck. The warmth on his shirt, seeping down Jack's chest, was not blood, but merely spilt rum. The chill on his face was not sweat from trying to hold his weight on his right arm, off of his throbbing left arm, but the spray of the ocean, salty and sweet.

He was not alone. Even as Sparrow looked about him, the smiling faces of his crew were there to greet him. Gibbs, with his big, foolish grin. Ana Maria, with her coy smirk. The gleam in Cotton's eyes, speaking volumes more than his tongue ever could even with it.

"The _Pearl_'s yours." Ana Maria's voice, cool and slick as silk.

A wave rose up, above the port side, splashing Jack. The cold brought him back, away from the _Black Pearl_ and back to the harsh reality of the hold of the _Herald Mark_. His cool, refreshing wave had become but a bucket of tossed salt water. The salt stung and burnt at his wounds.

His bleary eyes focused. Before Jack stood a few of the _Herald Mark_'s crew members, decked out in their cheery, red uniforms, jeering at him, trying to wake him. Sparrow struggled to stay conscious. He didn't know how long he'd been out, drifting in and out of consciousness, but Jack knew better than to let himself go out in front of them.

Two of the pirates left, leaving the third shrouded in shadow.

Jack gave a weak nod in the shadow's general direction. "A good man would put a bullet 'tween me eyes."

The dark form moved. Jack heard the spilling of water and the patter of drips on the floor. Footsteps drew close, scraping at the hold. For a horrible moment, Jack's heart contracted, but he was too weak to even struggle in the chains.

A cup rose, held up to his lips. The water was cool and sweet, and clean. This was the freshest of water he'd ever tasted on a ship, not grog mixed down with rum to cut the rancid and unclean taste of old, stale water. Jack gulp it down his dry mouth and throat. The shadow that held the pewter cup tipped it for Jack. Water streamed down the captive's throat. He coughed, and almost choked, but the cup was taken back to the darkness.

Jack hung limply. "Why are ye doin' this?" No answer met his ears. "Why are ye helpin' me?"

"Because no man, not even Captain Jack Sparrow deserves such treatment." A familiar face passed between the deck prism's light, revealing the sharp features of the former Commodore, James Norrington, looking rather refreshed and returned to their state of grace. "No matter what you may have done to ruin my life and take my world away, you do not deserve this."

Jack furrowed his eyebrows. "Norrington?"

"Do not dare breath a word of this, or else I'll end up in irons and you will have no one to fetch you water," the now-privateer cautioned menacingly.

And Sparrow understood full well. His silence was golden for several hours. Mostly because, before Norrington could say anything else, Jack couldn't hear it. He had already slipped into merciful sleep.

xxxx

"ELIZABETH!"

Will screamed her name as soon as he knew it was his fiance. The blacksmith threw down his coffee and bolted, running to her, to the longboat. He slogged through the waves, up to his knees as they brought the women ashore.

"Will!"

The woman threw herself at her fiance, almost knocking them down. Will laughed, spinning around with her to ride out the force of her landing. He held her close and tight, never wanting to let her go ever again. But Elizabeth, she cried. Tears streamed down her eyes as she sobbed. Her hands framed his face, holding him.

"Oh, god, Will, I'm so sorry!" Elizabeth cried. "I should have never done it."

The man shook his head. "No, no, you did what you had to."

"I shouldn't have..."

Will shook his head. "No. You had to. I know. I know. It's okay." The man wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. "I understand. I know you..." He could barely contain himself. "I know you didn't think there was any other way."

"Oh, Will."

Elizabeth kissed him. It was as if fireworks exploded in his lips and through his heart. He had given this up why? Some part of him still distrusted her, still hated her. In his mind, he did. But his heart. Will could not still the longing in his heart, the hope to just be loved by Elizabeth Swann for the rest of his life, or longer if humanly or unhumanly possible.

She looked to him. "Oh, god, Will. We have to save Jack." She looked into her lover's eyes fearfully. "Beckett has him, and the heart is missing."

Will looked back to the captain in the rowboat. "Don't ye worry, yer lass has already told us all the sordid details." The stranger's eyes scanned the beach, catching sight of Barbossa in his large hat, sipping coffee and biting into a green, fresh apple. "Ah, there's yer cap'n."

"Calico Jack Rackham!" Barbossa called out in greeting. "I sense a council be in order."

"Aye. I sense it, too."

xxxx

A/N... so... we've lost the heart, found the Elizabeth, and practically gave up the Jack. Who knew what to do?

And, no, I don't believe James Norrington is a bad man. I just believe he's a man bound by the laws of his country and a sense of unshakable, unwavering loyalty to his duties as a commodore, title or not. But, he's still in the employ of Beckett, so who knows what will happen in this little slice of ficdom. Well, I know, but you will just have to guess. Sorry!


	30. Courtly Tidings

RED SKY

Sheer agony roused Jack as Beckett finally jerked the dagger from out of his captive's chest. Jack gasped with the white hot symphony of anguish. A whole new stream of blood seeped out, through his stiff, caked shirt.

This time, surprised, Jack cried out.

Beckett held the dagger, covered in crimson liquid, studying it. "Are you ready, Sparrow, to tell me what I want to know?"

"Depends on the question, mate..." Jack trailed off.

The noble took a handkerchief and wiped the scarlet from off the blade. "Tell me about the island. I know you found it. Just tell me where it is."

Jack didn't answer.

Beckett leaned close to his captive's ear. "I know ye're suffering, Jack Sparrow. I know you pray to die with every moment of your pitiful existence, but your body just won't give out on ye." Jack fought to stay conscious, afraid of the encroaching dark and what Beckett could do to him while he was out cold. "Tell me where the island is, and I can put an end to all your pain."

Jack took his opportunity. Swiftly, he reached right with his head and bit down on Beckett's ear. The sudden splash of copper on the pirate's tongue rewarded him instantly. The man howled in rage and pummeled Sparrow in the gut. Jack's grip on Beckett's ear loosened, and the noble jumped back.

"Fetch me a hot brand."

Jack's chocolate eyes went wide. He had known the heat of the brand, under Beckett's own hand, for that matter. It was how all pirates were marked by the East India Company. It wasn't the fear for the brand. No, it was terror at Beckett's cruelty, his malice and greed that ran deeper than the deepest waters.

His eyes opened wider as the glowing, red poker was drawn forth. Beckett's face held only glee. Jack summoned what little energy he had left to struggle, but the chains held fast.

"Are you so sure about that?"

The poker was no more than an inch away from Jack's face. He could feel the heat of the glowing brand, making him flush involuntarily. However, the pirate knew, knew in his heart, that, if he gave up the secret of the island, that no one would ever be safe ever again, least of all the women who inhabited those islands. He could not, would not put Sygne and her kin in danger, nor put all sailors who roamed in seas in jeopardy.

He swallowed hard and maintained his ignorance. "No." Jack tried to put on his trademarked smile, flash those gold teeth of his. "Ye have to recall, I have always been a bit of a rum pot. Must have forgotten about it, and I can't tell ye about an island I remember nothing about."

Beckett pried back Jack's shirt, exposing his chest and the raw stab wound. "That's a nasty little scrap you have there." The hot brand sizzled and seared as it came into contact with Jack's skin; now, he screamed, unable to keep it in as Beckett held the iron against him. "Wouldn't want it to get infected, now would we?"

Beckett took the brand off his skin. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air, sickeningly, turning Jack's stomach sour.

Jack looked up as a sort of humming filled his ears. A distant tune, but it drew close with each passing breath he took. It was a song he knew, a song he had loved, long ago, years before all this. His mother's voice. And she sang for Jack, for her song, her Little Sparrow alone. Her melody danced for him, ringing in his ears, taking him from the world.

She looked so beautiful, so fair, with her pale skin and delicate, ebony hair. Delicately, the woman placed a kiss on her son's cheek.

"Oh, my Little Sparrow, I'm so very proud of ye."

He didn't know what to say; not a coherent thought formed. "Mum?"

"Just keep yer strength, my son, my Jack."

His mother melted away, and there was but Beckett, laughing at him, mocking him. The red poker was on his flesh again, burning, ever burning. Jack writhed in his chains, trying to evade the searing heat, but he could not.

Beckett cackled, even as darkness swirled in Jack's vision.

xxxx

They shouted harshly.

Elizabeth tried to ignore the profanities being bandied about and just held tight to Will's side. He had taken her back, and Elizabeth wasn't going to give him up if she didn't have to. The woman just sat beside him, knowing that, wedding or no wedding, she would be the loyal bride at her fiance's side.

They were angry. At first, the woman hadn't known what to expect when Barbossa called a council. The crew had gone about and rallied all the captains in Tortuga about the charred remains of the tavern. They sat in a great circle, arguing and bickering amongst themselves. The brothel girls were swift on their feet to get rum circulated, hoping the early morning drink would dispel some of the anger, but pirates were a rough crowd to please.

Barbossa stood and loomed over them, waiting for silence. "Alright, gents, we've got a bit of a situation on our hands. The heart of Davy Jones is missing, an' he won't rest until he has it."

"Yeah, an' who's fault is that?" One of the captain's barked.

Will's captain swallowed, trying to quell his own annoyance at the sudden outburst. "Twas Cap'n Jack Sparrow's fault, in truth. Twas Jack who went in search o' the damned thing and brought the wrath of Davy Jones down. Twas Jack who lost the 'eart, hid it somewhere in Port Royal. But it don't matter. S'all our problem now. Ye saw what happened here. Ye saw what 'e did to Tortuga." Barbossa looked about to all the captains gathered. "Tortuga 'ad done nothin' t' Davy Jones." He glanced about, his gaze settling upon Sygne where she sat, perched upon a small keg. "An' we 'ave a bigger problem." Barbossa extended a hand to her. "Miss Sygne, if ye would, please?"

The warrior dipped her head and practically waltzed to the center of the ashen circle before dropping to one knee. "My lady bids your aid and service."

"Who is this 'en to ask our help?" One of the captain's argued. "A woman?"

Sygne dove into the crowd and managed to actually haul the offending captain out to the center of the circle, kicking and screaming. The pair emerged as an animal, with her gold mask covering her face, and he beneath her as prey. The blade Jack had given her was pressed against his neck. A thin trickle of blood fell to the captain's dirty, stained shirt collar. The warrior looked to Barbossa, waiting.

"Let 'im up." The warrior glared at the captain through her mask, but Barbossa just said it again. "Syg, let him up."

Reluctantly, the woman stepped bad and allowed the captain to scramble out from beneath her. "My apologies." The warrior stood and lifted her mask. "I am not a woman. I am a servant under my lady, Hel."

"Mumbo jumbo, if ye ask me," another man breathed hotly.

"Listen t' 'er," Barbossa ordered sternly. "Ye all know Mr. Turner and Cap'n Sparrow sent me t' Davy Jones's locker, an', mysteriously, 'ere I am t'be sharin' a pint of ale with the lot o' ye." There were nods about the ring of men, but Barbossa could still see the doubt. "'Ere." The man pulled back his shirt, showing the perfect circle scar where Jack had shot him right in the heart, a fatal shot. "'Ere be the proof. Look hard an' good. For this is where Jack Sparrow shot me dead."

The men drew silent, listening intently now as Sygne spoke again, addressing the assembly. "My lady brought Captain Barbossa back to serve her for but one task. To return the heart of Davy Jones to her so that she might correct a grave error. Both William Turner and Jack Sparrow are bound by this same contract."

"Look, I know s'hard to believe, but, if we get the 'eart back to 'er, Davy Jones won't bother anyone anymore," Barbossa argued.

Sygne sighed. "Lord Cutler Beckett has always desired the heart for some grander scheme, but his intentions have changed. Now that he knows about my lady's island, he will stop at nothing to get there and take it for his own. Jack Sparrow has seen the way to the island. If he does not hold out, he will lead Lord Cutler Beckett to my lady's island." The warrior balled a tight fist. "We cannot allow it."

"'Er lady rules o'er death. So, unless ye want to be dodging the undead hordes of the East India Company, ye best do something now," Barbossa proposed.

There was an awkward silence for a moment while all around him mulled about, until Calico Jack Rackham spoke. "The _Revenge_ is at yer disposal, Cap'n Barbossa." Jack glanced about to the other pirate captains gathered there. "Never did much appreciate Beckett an' his stooges. Figure I wouldn't much fancy 'em immortal any."

Barbossa nodded slowly. "Thank ye, Jack."

"The _Antigua _stands at the ready," another voice cried out; Will quickly recognized the man as William Kidd, one of the most bloodthirsty pirates ever spoken of.

Another man stood amid the crowd. "I'll ready the _Royal Fortune._" He needed no introduction, but gave one anyway. "'Ey don't call me Black Bart fer being a yellowed-bellied woman-" He gave a quick look to Sygne. "-Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am."

Will's heart lifted. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance. But no other volunteers stepped forward. Four ships. Just four ships and crews volunteered to give aid. The others just walked away with their tale set firmly between their legs. The odds were most certainly not in their favor. Four ships. The _Revenge_. The _Antigua_. The _Royal Fortune. _And _El Cazador_. Three were the most notorious ships in the Caribbean.

But, it was a chance.

"Right. We'll bring _El Cazador_ t' the island, protect it," Barbossa said.

Kidd shook his head. "No. None of us know where the 'eart is. Ye need to be searchin' for 'at. An', if we're goin' t' be protectin' this island, ye need the most firepower there."

"Aye." Barbossa conceded. "Ye take the _Antigua _and the _Royal Fortune_ there. Calico Jack, ye and yer lot keep scout along th' reef." The other pirate nodded. "We'll get back t' Port Royal an' search fer the 'eart."

"I need to return to my lady to warn her," Sygne cautioned. "Otherwise, she will set her guards upon all who dare set foot on the island." The woman closed her eyes. "My warriors are smart and cunning, a worthy match for any, but they would stand no chance against the soldiers of Lord Cutler Beckett. But they are honor driven to protect their island and our lady without question, even in such grave odds. I must stop them."

"Ye're welcome on the _Revenge_," Anne Bonny told her.

Sygne dipped her head. "I thank you."

"It's settled, 'en."

xxxx

For hours, there had been only blessed, merciful darkness, the sleep of the just. The unconsciousness held him like a dark angel. It cradled him, away from the world and away from the suffering Beckett had inflicted upon him.

But, now, the voice roused him. "Jack..."

He opened his heavy eyelids, just barely. Jack tried to lift his head, but he had no energy left at all, it seemed. It didn't matter. Two delicate hands graced his bruised cheeks and ever so slightly brought his head up for him, so that he saw her. Jack peered into her face curiously, as she stared back with those dark, feral eyes of hers. Jack, at that moment, could have kissed her, but that felt a sin. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of her ebony hair brushed against his skin. Sygne.

"'Ello, love," he whimpered.

The warrior smiled warmly. Her lips did not move, but her words met his ears. "Jack Sparrow, be strong. Do not tell him. You cannot. Not ever. Do not fail me."

"I won't."

She ran her hand down his braided hair, trying to comfort him. "Do not fade away, Jack Sparrow. Don't you dare fade away."

"It hurts, love."

She wiped away a tear from the kohl under his eyes. "I know it hurts. I know it does. But you must be strong. For the Ladies and for the greater good." She smiled. "For all of us."

"It's so hard."

Sygne nodded slowly. "I know it is."

The woman placed a tender kiss upon his cheek, opposite the one his mother had kissed, before going. She faded long before the warmth of her touch did, leaving Jack alone. Well, not utterly alone, as two of the _Herald Mark_'s crew sat below decks, evading the heat and work.

"Who's he talking to 'en?"

Jack faded out again.


	31. Take Flight

RED SKY

"Good luck, my friends." Sygne turned to climb into the long boat with Anne and Calico Jack.

Will turned Elizabeth by her shoulder. "Go with her."

"No," the noblewoman shook her head. "My place is with you. I will not hide."

The blacksmith nodded and smiled at his fiance. "I knew you would say that." He hugged her. "And I'm glad you did. But we need you to help. We need as many strong men at the island to keep it from falling to Beckett should they actually find it." He squeezed her hand. "Please?"

"But, what about you?" the woman asked softly.

Will smiled. "Don't worry about me." He puffed out his chest and teased, "You forgot one thing, love. I'm Will Turner."

Elizabeth giggled. "I could help you."

"I taught you how to fight, myself." He lifted her up and set her down into the boat beside Sygne. "You'll be much more help with them."

Elizabeth bent down and kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful."

"Always."

Sygne's voice raised above all others, praying over them all. "Should we fail, may we die a good death and meet again in the next lifetime." The warrior raised her hands to the sky. "I pray we do not fail my lady, but we cannot ever be certain about anything in this world. The All-Father wove the skein of your life long ago. Hiding in a hole will not increase your life any, so may we welcome Death as an old friend, for Death has known us for longer than we can remember."

The resounding call echoed among all the long boats. "Amen."

And, so, they had set out, sailing to their destinies.

xxxx

Tia Dalma had been waiting for those days for quite some time. She had known as soon as she saw Captain Barbossa that her lady had come back into play. The oracle now just had to wait for her time to come to its end.

She took her great, albino python out and into the jungle.

The whole world drew still for her, for just a moment, if that, as still as Tia Dalma's own heart. She should have never loved Davy Jones. Not ever. Tia Dalma had been a priestess in the service of a goddess. Her body had been to remain pure, free of carnal pleasures and barren of all violent delights. Tia Dalma had been meant to be one of Hel's perfect priestesses in all aspects. But her heart could never be tamed, not by Hel and most certainly not by Davy Jones. After so many years of remained as treacherous as the seas, Tia Dalma finally felt at peace with everything about her.

The first step into death, she knew, was always the hardest one.

The oracle knelt down and allowed the python to slide from off her shoulder. It turned, elegantly raising its pointed head and flicking its tongue at the oracle. The snake regarded her with great respect.

"Return ta you master, Jormungand, an' tell 'im o' what be happenin'."

The albino python slithered away.

xxxx

Port Royal was as just as dead as it had been when they left, giving chase to the _Flying Dutchman_. The crew of _El Cazador _stood anxious. They knew, as soon as the heart had returned to play, Davy Jones would be hot on their heels with the kraken. The pirates had to move fast.

Barbossa looked to his crew. "This be where we 'ave t' make a choice now. Ye can leave, an' I won't call ye deserter. But ye 'ave te make yer choice now."

The crew gave each other awkward glances, but it was Mr. Gibbs who spoke for all of them. "Beggin' er pardon, Cap'n, but bugger that." The man stepped up to Barbossa and fidgeted with his flask. "We followed Cap'n Jack to the very brink o' hell. An' we'll go right back there if it takes it t' get our cap'n back."

"Aye. A respectable opinion, I suppose." Barbossa looked to the Port. "Alright. Sygne said Jack had only been gone not but a moment. The 'eart can't be far."

But both he and Will could already hear it.

xxxx

"Sparrow, ye ready?"

Jack tumbled to the ground, in a crumpled heap, jolting the pirate back to reality. The man tried to get up, to run, to escape, but he could not. His body was too weak, too broken, refusing to budge from it's spot on the floor of the hold, with water gently lapping around him. Jack blinked, focusing.

Beckett crouched over him, careful not to let his coattails dangle in the water and get wet or soiled. "Oh, poor Sparrow. My, how you've fallen, little bird." The noble teased his captive for a moment before growing serious and set in his face. "You know, this wouldn't have happened to you if you had just sung a little song for me, and told me the secrets I wanted to hear." He frowned, pursing his lips as Sparrow's defiance. "You can still save yourself a grisly fate by answering my questions."

Jack tried to reach out, to put a hand in front of him and climb to his feet. His body screamed in protest. Jack managed to roll over. His body burned in pain, blinding, white hot and angry. Sparrow could hardly breathe.

"Y'know, it didn't have to be this way," Beckett spoke softly. "You could have just told me where the island is."

Jack couldn't speak.

The echo of Mr. Cotton's parrot cawed and cried out in the back of his mind. "Dead men tell no tales."

A hand slapped his cheek. "Ah, little Sparrow, trying to sly away in the dark o' your mind?" Beckett taunted the fallen captain. "No, we can't be having that. Not yet, at least. No, not yet."

Jack struggled to form the word. "Why...?"

Beckett swung a vial of clear liquid over Jack's head, showing off the seemingly innocuous liquid. "They tell me this is the latest product from England's not so finest doctors."

Jack fought against his exhaustion. "What?"

There were hands upon him, weight pressing down on his broken body. Jack cried out as the crew manhandled him. The read coats pressed against his many bruises, cuts and breaks.

"What are you doing?" the pirate finally managed to blurt out angrily.

A crewman grabbed Jack's head and held it in a vise-like grip. The stranger forced their captive to look up, right up at Lord Cutler Beckett. The pirate tried to fight, to wriggle free of Beckett's crew, but to no avail. Another crewman pried at Jack's eyes holding them open wide.

"Is this really necessary?" Norrington inquired hotly.

"Yes," Beckett replied in annoyance before taking an eyedropper full of the clear liquid and held it over Jack's eyes. "I want you to remember, I gave you the chance long ago to just tell me."

Jack was frantic now. His heart pounded in his chest, slamming against his ribcage. Sparrow trembled, shaking and squirming, trying to free himself. He panted loudly, despite his body's protests and pangs. Sweat broke out all over Jack, pouring off of him in buckets.

"Please..." Jack begged.

Beckett smirked, helping his crewman to hold one of Jack's eyes open. Sparrow furiously blinked, but he could not close his eye. Beckett let the droplets fall onto that dark orb. The liquid stang harshly, burning the sensitive flesh. Jack screamed, letting out a piercing wail. Beckett held open Jack's other eye and let more of the liquid fall upon that one. The pirate's eyes fluttered, instinctively attempting to rid themselves of the poison. Then, the nobleman stepped back, letting Jack cry softly.

The hands fell away from Jack's body. The pirate curled over onto his side, clenching his muscles with this awful, whole-ly new and alien pain in his eyes. He blinked, trying madly to clear his blurry vision, but his sight only worsened. Jack's mind was starting to feel fuzzy.

"What?" Jack whispered.

Darkness fell over him, but he was still conscious. He could hear voices all around him. Beckett and his crew laughed at Jack, chuckling here and there. The pirate scrambled onto his hands on knees as fast as his broken body could move. He staggered blindly, clawing at the wooden deck madly. Or, had it become the sand of that damned little island Barbossa had marooned him on so many years ago. No, that didn't make any sense; nothing made any sense.

"What did you do?" Jack breathed, trying to find his place in the black void, but like grasping at slippery eels, the harder he fought, the more the world seemed to jump away from his grasp.

Beckett grabbed at Jack's braided and beaded hair. "How're you feeling, Sparrow?"

His voice melted away, replaced by Ana Maria's; she was beside Jack, with a hand on her shoulder. "Jack, are ye alright?"

"Captain Jack," he murmured.

Ana Maria smiled and conceded. "Captain. I'll take the helm. We're almost to the island." She held his hand. "What's our bearing?"

"No..."

There came a laugh from Ana Maria, but it quickly changed, with Beckett's low chuckle bellow underneath. Then, there was quiet and darkness.

Out of the dark, came light.

"Jack..." a gentle voice beckoned.

He struggled against his aching body, tears rolling down his bloody, bruised cheeks. There she was. Sygne, in all her glory. Her leather clothes and armor seemed new and freshly oiled, looking slick and rust red. Her tiger stripes glowed a bright orange instead of their usual midnight black; they seemed to shimmer and shift like the waters of the ocean its self. Her eyes sparkled. Her silver white hair shone under the light as a strange halo as opposed to the inky black mane he's been so used to seeing. Her mask rested in one hand, with its dark mane fluttering. Her smile warmed Jack's heart, gave him hope that help was coming, that his savior had arrived.

"Sygne..."

"You've been so very strong," the warrior breathed. "So very strong."

Her hands caressed his flesh tenderly; Jack blinked back tears. "I tried..."

"I know."

Jack's body crumpled beneath him. "I tried to be strong."

"And, now, you must do one last thing for me." He gave a slow nod. "Close your eyes." That wasn't a hard request for him to fulfill, as his eyelids sank shut. "Imagine it. You're on your own ship, at the helm."

"The _Black Pearl_..."

Sygne enfolded him in her sweet embrace. "Yes, the _Black Pearl._ You're closing in on the island. Tell me about it, all of it."

"Skeleton Cay... West." Jack had already begun to fade again. "Straight on the current and the winds. They carry you, like God himself."

"And then?"

"Fog..."

Sygne melted away when Beckett chortled again. Jack gasped. He'd given up the game, given up so very easily. He'd let Sygne down and told Beckett exactly how to get to the island, to their secret home. Beckett knew. And Jack had been left in the pitch darkness of his own blindness.

"Well, my little sparrow, you finally learnt how to sing!" There rose such sinister delight in Beckett's voice. "And what a song, Sparrow."

Jack's heart ached at the thought. "Bastard."

He swung out a fist, striking out into the void of his sight. Beckett just laughed heartily as Jack fell, unable to hold himself up anymore. His fist missed the nobleman completely. Beckett just stood over Jack, pinning him down easily with his booted foot and but the merest of pressure. Jack couldn't help by just lie there, limp and weak, sprawled across the floor and betrayed by his body.

Beckett grabbed Jack's injured arm. The pirate howled as the surprisingly powerful little man hauled him up the stairs, his body hitting each and every step with a heavy thud. Cutler tossed his captive out on deck, eliciting a blood-curdling scream of agony, but Beckett kept on, up another set of steps. They were in the gun gallery now, Jack knew without seeing. Up, up, his body beaten by each and every set of steps they hit, until the pirate felt the warm rays of the Caribbean sun cascade down and over him. Beckett threw him down, onto the main deck.

There were footsteps all around him, circling him. Jack tried to focus on the sounds and the on the facts, keep his mind grounded and keep from slipping back to unconsciousness. Not now, not while all the stakes were on the line. He was Captain Jack Sparrow; a little thing like losing his sight would not be the end of Jack. He just had to concentrate.

"Look at you now, Sparrow, a truly pathetic thing."

Beckett teased him so, turning to his crew. "What should we do with our little sparrow, men?"

There came a laugh. "Set him free."

"Ah, but with a broken wing?" Beckett asked of his crew, sending a dark chill through Jack.

"Only fair to balance 'im out!"

Beckett's husky voice crooned in Jack's ear. "Only fair..."

Jack Sparrow closed his eyes, readying for the abuse as best he could. He was a pirate captain; he would never be seen begging for his life, for mercy, least of all at the hands of an East Indian Company stooge.

There were hands upon him, but Jack was too weak to fight. The pirate just clenched his teeth tight, refusing to allow even a whimper out. Someone jerked his right arm, his still good arm, twisting it back with unearthly strength, it seemed. There was a moment, when Jack thought he was in the clear and drew in a soft breath, as the muscles just strained in protest. And, then, there was the crack. That horrific snap of bone. A jolt of pain rocked through Jack.

"Good-bye, Sparrow."

He was flying.

No, not flying, but falling through the air. The pirate hit the water with a large splash and sank, falling away from the world and everything in it. The waves thundered over his head.

Dark waves of glistening fur and hair.

Jack struck out with his arms, trying to swim. But his right arm, broken, hung loosely at his side, useless. His left arm was no more aid. Every cut, burn, and scrape stang bitterly with the salt of the ocean.

Dark eyes stared out from a mask of gold.

The surface seemed so far away. Was he sinking? It was miles away. Which way was it? He couldn't see, couldn't tell. Jack just tried, just swam. For all he knew, the pirate could have been swimming straight to the bottom.

Feathers ruffled on a breeze.

Jack's lungs were about to burst; he had no more left in him.

Hooves pounded, so far away.

The pirate's lips parted, and water rushed in. He tried to cough, but only more salt water flowed into him.

"Jack Sparrow... I am with you."

Sygne's tiger stripes passed over him.

Something wrapped around Jack's arm, his left arm, the better one now that his right arm had been mangled. Sparrow caught the rope, and it tugged at him, sending new flashes of pain. Jack climbed, pulling himself along the rope, up the rope, fighting against his own body and the water, and broke the surface.

He gagged, coughed and spat up the salt water from his tired lungs. The air never tasted sweeter than at that moment.

Something banged against his arm. A barrel. That was what the rope had been attached to. No, for as Jack felt the ribs of the small thing, he realized it was nothing but a small, empty powder keg. Just enough to hold Jack afloat and keep himself above water. Just a small answer to his prayers.

"Have to keep... head above water..."

He threw his broken arm over the powder keg, grunted as the break moved. Slowly, carefully, Jack managed to wrap the rope around him and tied it off, lashing himself to the keg securely. Exhausted from the whole ordeal, Jack let his head rest against the wood ribbing of the keg.

"Stay awake... Jack... ol' boy," he ordered himself.

But it was so hard.

His eyelids drooped shut.


	32. Author's Excuses

RED SKY

**AUTHOR'S EXCUSES!**

_**Translation: Why I have nothing to offer you for your reading pleasure tonight.**_

May I first say, I most regrettably apologize for keeping all of you waiting for so terribly long today with no new chapters.

See... there was a small problem last night...

I was in three accidents last night... in a manner of speaking.

You see, I went with a friend of mine on an off-road excursion to go rescue some of his friends who, after a few hours of being stuck in the mud had finally called for assistance. We took this absolutely fabulous '62 Dodge Power Wagon Ambulance out into the woods because it had a wench and could make it through the mud.

We thought this was an excellent idea, and, in truth, for a short time, this was a rather delightful theory. Bounding through the woods in the middle of the muck and mire, in addition to terrible weather getting worse, always seems like a great idea. To be honest with you, the Power Wagon worked like a charm at hauling the trucks out and even managed to give a push start to one of the rather destroyed trucks.

A good night, you would think.

Alas. On our way out, we managed to slam into a massive log hidden beneath a deep, cloudy puddle (**Accident #1**). Myself, and another passenger in back were tossed forward. Well, after we pulled the trucks out, we were informed of a forth truck that was stuck and began to head out to the vehicle in question, forgetting about the log. Again, another bone jarring crash (**Accident #2**) that left the Power Wagon trapped. The Wagon would remain trapped for another 15 hours by that darned log in the water.

However, we did not actually stay there for those 15 hours. We were cold, wet, and tired from slogging through this knee-deep pool running the winch cable back and forth. We were also disheartened by the fact that we had taken out several trees, a winch cable, a tow line, a chain, and who knows what else. It was time to call it quits, pile into the one remaining "operational" vehicle, and bolt from the woods.

On the way out of the woods, upon reaching a massive bog with a go about trail, the driver turned and asked should he be nice and go about or be mean and slosh directly through. With 8 people crammed into one vehicle, without anyway of digging it out now, without the Power Wagon, the unanimous decision was to be nice. So, up the second trail we go, plowing right through the woods...

... and straight into a tree.

For everyone who has been counting at home, this is **Accident #3**.

Let's recap.

**ACCIDENT #1**

_**In the case of Power Wagon vs. Massive Friggin' Underwater Log**_

_WINNER: Power Wagon_

We love the winch. The winch owns. However, I vote for seatbelts in the Power Wagon and brakes. Did I fail to mention lacking both of those? Because that was no mentioned to me until shortly after this.

**ACCIDENT #2**

_**In the case of the Power Wagon vs. Massive Friggin' Underwater Log in the Opposite Direction**_

_WINNER: Massive Friggin' Underwater Log_

Had I not already killed the environmentalist in me by going to art college and seeing the terrible waste of paper and being forced to engage in such practices, I would have cried watching the boys take out so many trees to attempt to free the beast from its trap. By and by, it is not a good thing to be sitting in the cab of a sinking truck and hear that the battery is on fire.

_**Appeal in the case of the Power Wagon vs. Massive Friggin' Underwater Log in the Opposite Direction**_

_WINNER: I have no idea._

I received an update this afternoon. 15 hours after getting the Power Wagon stuck, it managed to roll out of the hole. How? I don't know. I don't really care.

**ACCIDENT #3**

_**In the case of the Isuzu vs. Tree**_

_WINNER: No one really_

The Isuzu just slammed to a halt, but the tree appeared to be equally as unscathed. However, it was not as easy on the passengers of the Isuzu.

Now, I know what you are thinking.

a.) You shouldn't be posting this. This is a breach of T.O.S.

Well, the last time something like this... well... not like this happened and I couldn't post, I started to get e-mails and messages. People were looking for me. Yes. People were worried I had befallen some terrible mishap. They had my friends calling me on my cell because they were told I was dead. Someone then decided to call my family. Please don't do this. I would rather chance breaching T.O.S. than get another angry phone call from home asking why I'm faking my death again.

b.) How can you be so stupid to go out and do that?

I wasn't driving. I just tagged along, not expecting that at all.

c.) So, getting back to Jack... what's going to happened?

You are just going to have to wait until I can get my bearings again.

d.) Awww... but how long is that going to take?

I promise, I will sit down and write long and hard tomorrow and hopefully have a new chapter up by either tomorrow evening or Saturday at the latest.

**SO, in summary: I suck today. Sorry. (**

I will catch you guys as soon as possible with an awesome chapter. But, until then, can I whet your appetite for RED SKY with a devilish little tidbit. For all those worried about Jack, don't worry. He's Captain Jack Sparrow! He'll figure a way to survive anything! And I mean anything! The heart's coming back into play. We'll have some infield fouls called by Davy Jones and the crew of the _FLYING DUTCHMAN_. There's going to be some great defense by our intrepid pirates, but perhaps some in game substitution? And a taco bell commercial with a dog and lizard perhaps? Er... maybe I left my brain in the trapped Power Wagon.


	33. Party Fire

RED SKY

"Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

James Norrington had always appreciated that little saying ever since he had been but a lad. Red sky at night, sailor's delight, meaning a clear, and rather peaceful evening on the water. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning, meaning danger and troubles ahead. He knew, from years of experience that those sayings held little value save the worry of men destined to a superstitious career. Norrington had studied the stars and the conditions about, knowing much better than based off of the sky's crimson stain for the whether.

He had hoped that the sky's above would be a favorable omen for Jack Sparrow and all of the men damned to have become involved with the sordid affair revolving around Davy Jones's heart. Deal or no deal with the undead pirate captain, Jack Sparrow hadn't deserved what Beckett had done to him. No man did no matter what the crime.

The privateer hoped that the red bode well for Jack just as much as he hoped the small keg he'd "accidentally" knocked overboard would help the pirate stay above water. Oh, yes, James Norrington had broken his own rule to spare Jack Sparrow, but he hid it well, even from himself. The man rationalized about how the pirate needed to warn Elizabeth Swann and her other pirate cohorts that Beckett had developed some sort of a new, rather more devilish and decidedly roguish plot for their fair Caribbean. The privateer tried to think of Jack Sparrow as a witness.

But, in truth, all Norrington could picture was Jack Sparrow as a useless lump of meat and flesh, a shell of the man he had once been. The pirate had been spirited, coy, and bold. The bedraggled half-corpse Beckett had dumped overboard had not been Jack Sparrow. It had been a husk of a man, emptied of its intrinsic soul. Norrington almost hoped Jack would die a quick death and be relieved of his suffering forever. He almost hoped it.

But, then again, James Norrington wished Jack would make another of his daring, death-defying escapes so he could catch him yet again.

"God speed, Jack Sparrow."

xxxx

Water!

Jack awoke with a start as water splashed against his face. He struggled for a moment, finding his arms rather stiff and useless from their wounds. HIs body had gone numb before, but, now, it sang with bitter agony. And the water! That salty water bit at his eyes and at every little cut and gash.

The pirate scrambled back above the surface. The rope he had lashed about him and the keg had slipped loose slightly. Jack coughed up the choking saltwater and retied himself before laying his weary head down on the wooden ribbing of the keg.

Darkness had been about him the entire time, and he could not longer see day nor night. The pirate wondered how long it had been since he'd been tossed overboard and off the _Herald Mark_. Without his sight to at least gauge night from day, Jack couldn't tell precisely. He shivered, knowing his body had started to run a slight fever, but unable to determine if the heat he felt upon his face came from the heat of his body, or the rays of the Caribbean sun.

Jack stayed there now, fighting to stay away, but knowing the truth.

He was dying, and he didn't have much time anymore.

xxxx

_"Behold, he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen."_

Davy Jones found himself in high spirits, exceptionally high spirits if he were quoting Bible verses.

They had lost the heart, but he knew who else was after it. Her. She had sent one of her warriors, one of the elder warriors, judging by the tattoos, to find him. She had sent one of her most trusted kin to bring his heart back. Hel. The soul warden had come to collect, just as he had done so many times to some many others lost at sea. Davy Jones knew his master had grown displeased with him, very much so to have sent one of her little beasties as a messenger.

Ah, but it put him in such high spirits to know such things.

Davy Jones had been captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ for longer than he could remember accurately, bound to the ship by her contract and the regulations of a harsh mistress. The woman had dared to risk her end of the pact by sending warriors after him, meaning the deal had changed. He had grown tired so many years ago of only being able to go ashore once every 10 years, only able to attempt to coax her, his Tia Dalma, back into his arms but that once a decade chance. And Davy Jones had enjoyed quite enough time to ensure that the kraken had become his utter pet. Davy Jones had been captain long enough to know he could take his mistress down.

He had never had reason to. For, in all those many centuries, Hel had never beckoned him back to her port to return the souls he had collected. And none of his crew had ever made it past their hundred years before their bodies and souls withered away to nothingness. Davy Jones had been his own man, despite her law and contract.

He looked to Maccus, a stern gaze set in those dark eyes of his, the eyes of a captain who had seen enough of himself being punished by a lady he did not serve.

"Orders, Cap'n?" Maccus inquired, bowing that shark-like had of his slightly.

Davy Jones smiled, his tentacles curling and moving in a tangled mess. "We make for 'er island." He looked to his compass and spun the wheel sharply to the right heading before slamming it dead stopped. "If ye do not wish t' ever fear death, we take 'er from off 'er gilded throne."

"Aye," the shark monster said with a nod.

Bootstrap Bill Turner had been listening keenly. His captain had been sure to keep him close at hand since the incidents with Will and the key. Davy Jones had him scrubbing the deck beneath his feet, but Boostrap didn't mind. It gave him time to hear what his captain had been plotting. It gave him ideas.

Davy Jones didn't notice. Instead, he looked upon the horizon, saying, "Yes, _'All the kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord.'"_

xxxx

The _Revenge _made hard and fast for the horizon and made it to Skeleton Cay as there was still fresh light. The _Royal Fortune _and the _Antigua _followed suit, as Elizabeth led the way back to that remote little island. She led them back to the bar, the World's End Tavern. She and Sygne rowed ashore just as twilight settled in, casting a strangely solemn and gloomy light upon the place.

The World's End had been raucous from the outside, but, as soon as Sygne, a warrior for Hel and her island, stepped inside, all voices went silent. All eyes, dead, alive, and otherwise fell upon her. Sygne made no move to address any of them, instead walking towards the very back of the tavern. Elizabeth followed hesitantly, even more reluctantly so as a giant, albino python slithered out of nowhere and trailed along the floor at their side.

They came to a crimson room. Incense swirled at the door, but Sygne threw it open. She stepped easily into the dark room, and Sygne bowed, pressing her palms together as if in prayer and the deepest of respect, ignoring the hissing. Elizabeth could not help but hear it and be unnerved by the noise. It only made it worse when she heard the sound of the python joining in the hissing, creating a louder, combined noise. The woman swallowed but stood her ground.

Tia Dalma had told her to. The oracle had said to not let them see she was afraid. It had worked and got Jack back from the dead. Who knew what would happen if she did it a second time?

"Ah... another creature daring to disturb my rest and hope not to become a snack."

Sygne shook her head. "Forgive me, my lord, but I have come on behalf of my lady, Hel, and her island."

"That would be the second time a body came here stating that." The voice in the darkness seemed to hiss and laugh, almost serpentine in nature. "They fared well and lucky enough to not be eaten. What makes you think you are any better?"

"I am a warrior of the lady, Hel," Sygne replied proudly.

The voice chuckled now. "Ah." As the albino python snaked its way into the shadows, the strange voice grew soft. "And what brings you, my old friend?" There was a moment of silence. "My little child says that he has been sent by his master to warn of the events which you have been party to. He says the world is coming to an end, and his master will die."

Elizabeth drew in a breath, shocked. She knew who owner that snake. Tia Dalma. The noblewoman had been just as afraid of it in the tiny cottage as she had been walking down the hall of the World's End. Tia Dalma was going to die?

"Have you come seeking mercy or penance for your sins before the world ends?"

The warrior shook her head again. "No. I have come seeking aid and a means to save your sister."

"Ah, the root of it," the voice responded. "I have known."

"You are the world serpent," Sygne stated calmly. "Your great eyes see all, and your all reaching body feels all about you. Your sensitive flesh trembles under the slightest of forces. How could you not know?"

"You compliment me too well."

The warrior bowed her head low, brushing it to the ground. "Only when due, Jormungand."

"I am the world, the binding to all things." The voice sighed. "I cannot leave here, leave this place. I cannot set even the smallest bit of me on that island of hers. I cannot move from this sacred space until all things have come to their natural end. I could not be sure of the consequences."

"But of course," the bowed woman said knowingly, gloomily.

"But, protect my sister and your kin."

Sygne rose and spun about on her heel. Elizabeth could see the hot rage and betrayed look in the warrior's face just before the woman pulled down her mask. Sygne would never let anyone see her so angered, so put off. No. Sygne, the New Victory, would have her sweet battle, her chance to destroy, crush, kill, and maim, and only then would she allow such emotional failings to be seen by any. Only when the warrior vented her aggression had Elizabeth ever seen her emotion.

She only hoped Will and Barbossa were faring well in their search for the heart.

xxxx

A/N: I'm not hurt from the great romp through the woods down the Jeep trail. I was just a little exhausted and had a lot of work to make up for after sleeping through much of Wednesday. And, y'know what? It was SO worth it! I had so much fun out in the woods, even if we did almost lose the most spectacularly awesome vehicle, the Power Wagon, and even if the boys did take out half the forest trying to free the beast. I hadn't had that much fun in a long time.


	34. Silent Serenade

RED SKY

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

It sounded in their ears, echoing as drums into eternity. The heart grew louder and louder, harder. It slammed in their ears, as drums in their very heads. Will's brain throbbed with each and every deafening beat of that hideously alive heart. He wondered if Barbossa felt the same as they trekked through the brush.

Barbossa led, into the jungles of Port Royal, far around the ruined town and to the woods, moving as silently and swiftly as possible. Only he and Will had gone ashore, to go faster and remain unnoticeable. No one else would have been of any help, of any value to them. No one else could hear the heart, could know when they were getting close to the damned thing. That, and Barbossa felt certain he could trust Will and perhaps no one else on the crew with the bloody thing. No one else had signed their immortal soul over in exchange for the lump of meat.

They circled about the town, coming across a narrow stream, and followed it towards the great offices of the East India Company. The water splashing at their ankles would cover their scents. Barbossa slogged down the stream, leading the way through the jungle.

Sunlight poured down upon him radiantly. There had been a time when Barbossa had loved the sun and its warm rays. At night, the pale light of the pregnant, full moon showed their true form. Only that rare one day a month when no moon hung in the sky could the captain be free to walk about in the night without being reminded of their eternal curse. How he had hated the dark of midnight. Now, the pirate captain cursed the day star, wishing for all the shadows of the night to conceal them and their activities.

As the fort drew into sight, the beating subsided.

Will froze. They were close. So, very, very close. He felt like he could almost reach out and touch the heart with how near they were. Barbossa turned to him; he knew they were close, too. They moved back together, a few feet. The beating cresendoed and fell away again.

"It's here."

Barbossa looked about. There was nothing. Not a damned thing. There were only tall trees, shrubs, some vines, and the stream. Here and there, were large boulders flanking the stream. However, there lay no sign of the heart, the chest, or Jack Sparrow's presence there.

"Aye, but where?"

xxxx

"You know, he had always been a good man."

Elizabeth turned suddenly, see Anne Bonny behind her. No. Anne Rackham. History would always remember this creature as Anne Bonny, free woman and pirate extraordinaire, but they knew her as a married woman.

The noblewoman had been standing at the box, watching Sygne seem to meditate in the riggings along the bowsprit. She had been so quiet for so very long. Both of them had. Ever since leaving the World's End and knowing that the world had been spinning to pieces around them, both women held their tongues. For so long, they had been silent, Elizabeth had almost forgotten what her own voice sounded like.

It was Anne who brought her back to reality.

"Who? Jack?" the noblewoman asked.

The pirate smiled, rubbing her great belly with one hand and bracing her spine with with other. "Barbossa. It was he who first introduced me to my Jack. He made my future possible."

"I see," Elizabeth said.

The mists parted about them, as well as the _Revenge_, the _Royal Fortune, _and the _Antigua_, revealing the lush island. Elizabeth felt herself draw in a breath in awe. She knew the beauty of the isle, untamed and wild as the spirited women who inhabited it. However, the noblewoman had never seen the whole island, with its verdant green in the daylight. She had never spied the way the milky white alabaster of those elegant spires pierced the green of the jungle and the azure of the sky. All eyes fell upon the mighty castle, to where the turrets gathered together and punched the heavens themselves.

This island was most certainly a treasure, but not the kind Jack and Will so often hungered for and craved so badly.

"Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph," Anne breathed, still holding her belly.

Elizabeth nodded. "Aye." The noblewoman just stared up there, to the castle. "And some older figures as well."

"Gods and devils, is this Avalon?"

The noblewoman shuddered at what the pirate dared ask. Avalon? She had never known this island by any name, but she had always wondered. An island inhabited only by women priestesses and no men. An island monastery devoted to the old gods and the paths of nature. It sounded too familiar to Arthur's island.

"Who knows anymore?" Elizabeth breathed.

Sygne turned to them, her eyes filled with worry. "We go ashore." She saw the curious lust in the pirates eyes; they were contemplating what treasures the island, her home, could hold to plunder and take for themselves. "Captains and ladies only."

Somehow, though, the warrior couldn't help but worry. After all, she had put the fate of her home in the hands of pirates.

xxxx

"Damn!"

They had searched everywhere, and the heart was no where to be found. Daylight had already begun to wane about them, as the sun quickly sank in the heavens above. They were losing time, too much time. Every moment they spent looking for the bloody thing was another moment Beckett drew closer to Hel's island, another moment they fell further behind.

Will plopped down on a rock as Barbossa paced furiously up and down the stream, splashing water with each stride. "Give it up." The captain glared, but Will just shook his head. "We're not going to find it unless we stop and think."

"We nary 'ave any time t' think, Mr. Turner, if ye hadn't noticed!"

It was the heart, echoing in their heads, thumping on their brains. Will could see it in Barbossa. The captain looked uneasy, unhinged and aggressive. No. It wasn't the heart. It was fear. Fear of the retribution of a god and fear for this god. It was fear for the pirate way of life should Beckett take Hel's island.

Barbossa shook his head. "Do ye 'ave any idea what's at stake, boy?"

"I do..."

The captain gave a small nod and kept at his pacing. They were so very close. The heart's pounding faded away when they walked no more that ten feet in any direction. However, there, it was deafening, thundering in their ears. It had to be there, right there, in that one spot. Barbossa knew it; Will knew it. The captain just couldn't figure out where the bloody thing had bee hidden.

Will shook his head. "It's not in the fort. It's out here. Right here." His captain nodded as his first mate thought aloud. "Why?"

"Hidin' it?" Barbossa suggested with a weary shrug.

The blacksmith leaned back, resting his head against the rock. The stream before his feet grew still for a moment. The waters swirled lazily, almost growing as still as glass. As the heart thumped in Will's mind, tiny vibrations shivered through the water and through the rock behind him.

Will's eyes went wide. "Jack hid it." He looked to Barbossa. "Where would you hide a treasure? Where would a pirate hide something?"

"In a cave or buried in th' earth," the captain replied. "Why?"

Will wasted no time leaping off the rock and into the waters of the stream. His long fingers, so very used to working with all manners of metal ran over the wet, slippery rock, down and over the face. They found a gap, where the rocks actually seemed to jut out of the embankment. It formed a tiny crevasse there, just wide enough to hid something stowed away under there. Only someone who knew what to look for, where to look, would have seen it there, or known to look under there. Will reached down and under the rock, pawing about.

At first, Will's heart sank, feeling betrayed by his hunch. Then, as the blacksmith began to pull his hand out from under the boulder, his fingers caught on something. It was linen of some form, with a tight, silky knit and curling embroidery. Will froze.

"Do ye have somethin'?" Barbossa asked, leaning over the man's shoulder.

The blacksmith gave the linen a gentle pull, but something weighed it down. Will reached deeper under the rock and stopped in horror as his hands felt something fleshy and warm down there, moving and alive. He grabbed it and jerked it from beneath the boulder, tearing it away from what felt like a fancy handkerchief. The blacksmith fell back, but, as he looked down, the hideous, still beating heart of Davy Jones rested upon his chest.

Barbossa laughed. "Mother's love, Jack Sparrow. Pirate t' the end."

xxxx

Bootstrap Bill had been the first to spy it on the horizon. He kept to himself for some time. But, in the distance, there had been a strange form growing larger. Bill had learnt from the short time that Will had been aboard the _Flying Dutchman _that the seas held surprises sometimes best left hidden from his captain and the rest of the cursed crew.

At first, Bill hadn't been quite sure of what he saw out there, drifting along the current. It just seemed a jumbled concoction of forms, with no real sense. Drifting shapes in the sea. It looked like a bit of debris, so very common among the Caribbean Sea, especially with Davy Jones as his captain. Bill had seen so much along the seas since joining the _Flying Dutchman_, much of it being wreckage he and his fellow crewmen made. Bootstrap peered out cautiously, noting as the thing drew closer, a long line of rope and stray keg.

Then, he saw it. A hand. A limp, lifeless seeming hand, curling over the keg.

"Cap'n," Bill called reluctantly. "Man over."

Davy Jones, in his delightful mood, just grinned. "Drifter, leave 'im."

And Bootstrap Bill would have listened, had he not caught sight of that all too familiar red bandanna. "Jack..."

"What?" Davy Jones demanded. Bill shook his head, but the damned captain had heard him to well. "What was that you said?" Davy Jones peered over the rail at the bedraggled body and let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Well, why don't ye extend our hospitality, Bootstrap?" He looked sternly to the man before ordering, "Bring 'im up."

xxxx

Splashing.

Jack lurched to one side and almost slipped beneath the waves. Were it not for the keg, the man would have. Something moved towards him. No. Jack listened intently to the sounds and recognized it as someone swimming towards him.

The pirate jerked away, but the rope around the tiny, floating keg held him fast. The pirate tore furiously at the knots he made, ignoring the agony screaming through his muscles and every inch of his body. The cuts and the stab wound under his left shoulder opened, and the raw salt hit him harshly. His broken right arm just hung limp and useless at his side. However, with one last pull, the knot gave, the rope slipped, and Jack sank beneath the surface.

He was drowning. This was the end. After all that. After all the daring exploits of Captain Jack Sparrow, this was how his life was to end. No grand funeral. No flowers. No tears. Just the dark void of the water.

No.

Jack shook his head and clawed out with his left arm, letting his broken arm dangle. He was Captain Jack Sparrow. His body may have been doomed to die, but Jack would not give it up. Years of piracy had taught him to never give up, to never just lay down and die. There was always a chance. A slim chance, it might be, but there was still a chance to save him. He just had to make it to the island and to Hel. The _Herald Mark_ had already been on its way to Skeleton Cay, so there was an even greater chance that Jack could make it, so long as he just didn't give up.

Sea turtles, he remembered. Sea turtles would save him. Jack could have laughed out loud, where he not sinking deeper and deeper. At least, for Will, the pirate captain would have to concoct some grand story. And, just for Will, Jack would have to tell him himself about being save by sea turtles. He just had to survive to tell the whelp that.

Jack knew he would survive, if only to see the look on Will's face at that one.

A hand grabbed him sharply and pulled him on his right arm. Jack screamed underwater and kicked out, trying to break free. The hand just held his broken arm harder, sending white hot pains throughout his body. The person had reached him and had begun to drag him away. Jack fought as hard as he could, struggling with all his might, but he was too weak.

They broke the surface in an instant, and a voice hit his ears. "Breathe, Jack."

"Bill?" the battered man whispered.

The other man said not a word as he hauled Jack's prone form up and onto the deck of the ship, but Jack already knew him. Bootstrap Bill Turner. He also did need to feel the rotten grain of the _Flying Dutchman_'s deck to know where he lay. Jack had already known. Now did he need to hear the second voice to know who approached. No, the harsh rapping of that wooden peg leg upon the old deck heralded the captain of this damned ship.

A tentacled hand curled around his left arm and pulled the captain up; Jack could feel the heat of breath as Davy Jones spoke. "My, my, is this not a pleasant surprise? Jack Sparrow, returned to my humble vessel." Davy Jones must have been sneering right in front of his face. "And what terrible misfortune 'as befallen ye to bring you back to my fair presence?"

Jack smirked to himself a tired, exhausted smile. "Out for a stroll."

"Ah. It seems a rather curious turn of fate that we should meet again," Davy Jones spoke softly, plotting; he noticed Jack's unseeing eyes. "Ye seem to have been in a bit of a predicament with those eyes and these arms of yers. However, considered you're a dead man, Jack Sparrow, you look good." Jones threw him down to the deck abruptly. "Ye made a deal with 'er, didn't you, Sparrow?"

Jack laughed. "No. By a series of entirely unforeseeable events and entirely unfortunate events, I've been pressganged into her service..." He waited, knowing just where to sting Davy Jones. "Just like yer darling dear, Tia Dalma."

He tightened his muscles as quick as he could after hearing the shift of weight of the other captain on that peg leg. The wood rasped against the deck with the softest of hisses. Jack had almost begun to enjoy being blind for the simple fact that he heard things before anyone else did. However, his body could not respond fast enough to dive out of the way with all the wear on it. Instead, Jack just had to clench his muscles as that great, misshapen claw of Davy Jones struck him soundly in the jaw. Jack rolled on the deck, to the obvious delight of the crew as they laughed heartily and boisterously.

"Don't ye ever dare speak of her with such disrespect!" Jones snarled. He drew near to the fallen man, leaning over him. "Now. Do you fear death?" The beaten man felt a slimy tentacle crawl over his neck, wrapping around him. "I have asked so many men that question when their half dead carcasses have been brought aboard my ship, but I never had the opportunity to ask you. Do you fear death, Jack Sparrow? Do you fear eternity and its dark abyss? Do you Jack?"

"Never," the half-dead man replied solemnly. "I've already seen it. S'not nearly as bad, nor nearly as good as everyone thinks it is." Jack raised his head, trying his best to aim a carefully pointed look at Davy Jones. "'Sides, I know something you don't, but you want to know. Do you know?"

"Stop talking crazy, Sparrow," Jones growled. "It would be my pleasure to finally 'ave you on my crew after all these years. For you, though, I'll make an exception to my own rules." The captain slapped the battered man with his claw teasing. "What say you? Two hundred years before the mast?"

Jack laughed deliriously. "Two hundred years?"

"The heat and the dehydration 'as gotten to you, Jack," Jones pointed out matter-of-factly to the blind man. "Ye've gone mad." Davy Jones stood tall and took a step away. "Ye're a lost cause, Jack."

"Ah, but ye know what is lost and found?" Jack cried out, "Yer heart!"

All fell silent. The fallen captain had known exactly where to strike at this monster. He knew the one thing that could derail Jones from his own mission and give Jack one last chance. He could use this. Jack knew he could find some leverage.

"What d'ye know about that?" Jones demanded.

"I'm the one who hid it, savvy?" Sparrow breathed, rolling onto his back and taking his weight off of his injured, aching shoulders. "An' I know where it is."

The captain rushed to him and hauled his body up again harshly. "Where?"

"Now, if I told ye without making a deal, what good will that leverage do fer me?" the tired man asked incredulously. "My mother raised no fool. Nah, she raised a proper pirate out of me."

Jones gave an uneasy laugh. "What de ye want, Jack?"

xxxx

A/N: I FRIGGIN' PUBLISHED THIS CHAPTER TWO DAYS AGO! WTF, WTF indeed! Grr... sorry to anyone who's been waiting for this. decided to dump this chapter entirely, along with two reviews, according to my stats page. smolder

Yeah... I hadn't realized the last chapter was so short. I just felt done, so I let it lie. Alas. Hopefully, this one makes you feel better.

And you lot need to stop guessing the plot points! Knock it off with ruining the surprises! First guessing that Norrington wasn't exactly a bad character (he's still not exactly a good character, but he's no Beckett). Then, knowing that I couldn't let Jack die! Now, you guys even picked up on this little run in with Davy Jones! Stop it! You're ruining my fun at seeing your great reviews when I surprise you with fun little details and plot points if you guess it before it happens.


	35. Precious Things

RED SKY

Even the winds seemed elated to be carrying _El Cazador _ with its new cargo. The crimson sails kept aloft and full, pushing the sloop. They never stopped. The waves pushed along with the wind, as if Neptune himself were working with the heavens and the waters of the Caribbean to rid his seas of the vile thing. The ship just cut through the ocean faster than Barbossa had ever seen.

"We'll make fine time to Hel's island," the captain noted.

Will Turner just gazed out over the open waters. Off to the starboard, there were a few, small islands. Really, they were just shallow reefs that had gathered enough sand and silt to host some hardy trees. They brought the blacksmith no comfort, and it brought him similarly no comfort to see that Port Royal had disappeared beneath the horizon behind the stern. No. Will would not, could not, relax until he finally spied Hel's island and found Elizabeth safe and sound.

The blacksmith looked to his captain. "Will we make it there before Beckett?"

Barbossa knew Will didn't really have to ask that question, nor did he have to give the answer he did. "No. No chance on God's green earth that we're gonna beat Beckett to the island."

Will held the heart closer to him, feeling its muffled beats. As soon as they'd gotten back to _El Cazador _and gotten underway, the blacksmith had seen the horrified looks on the crews' faces. So he wrapped the lump of flesh in a sash borrowed permanently from one of them and, then, placed the heart into a leather sack, tying it tightly. The others had been so horrified by the presence of the heart onboard and the ill it bode for them, that Will was sure to keep it out of sight. But the crew kept a great distance from him and the heart, straying to the far decks, remembering what fate befell Jack the first time when Davy Jones found him in possession of the damned thing. Will tried to conceal it from them, to shield their eyes, minds, and hearts from the cursed, still beating meat.

He glanced at elder pirate for a moment and, then, returned his gaze to the horizon. "Y'know, Jack told me once that I was well on my way to becoming a proper pirate because I was absolutely obsessed with treasure."

Barbossa laughed. "And I bet 'e told ye that bunk about not all treasure bein' gold."

"Aye," Will replied honestly, feeling the steady tread of the heart against his chest as it moved and squirmed, beating even as it had been bound so tightly. "I dare not think he meant that treasure was in undead hearts." Will smirked as Barbossa gave a soft chuckle. "No. He meant things like that island. Like Elizabeth."

"Ye've forgivin' her that quickly?" Barbossa inquired curiously.

Will shook his head glumly, squeezing the heart tightly, as if he could just muffle that damned, deafening beating still throbbing in his ears. "It was never my place to forgive her, nor to punish her." He sighed. "I still don't like what she did to him, but it's up to Jack to forgive or hate her. It's Jack she did wrong."

"Jack'll never forgive 'er, I hate to tell ye," Barbossa conceded.

Will nodded. "I figured as much. But I am helpless to do anything in that matter." He looked to the horizon, feeling the heart weighting him down as a bag of lead shot. "I feel rather helpless in all of this. I mean, what can we really do in the path of god's rage and vengeance?"

"Pray."

xxxx

Anne watched through the spyglass as the two women pulled their rowboat ashore and stowed the paddles. Sygne had been careful to have Elizabeth lift it up as best the noblewoman could, and they brought it up to the jungle to stow it under some overhang of lush plants. The warrior was smart and calculating, knowing not to allow Beckett the knowledge that anyone had gone ashore, that this island could be habitable or safe for any human.

She lowered the glass, looking to her husband. "Do you think they're comin' back?"

"Aye. They'd better."

The warrior and the noblewoman disappeared, swallowed by the jungle.

xxxx

A shrill whistle pierced the air, reverberating in Elizabeth's ribcage. Sygne stood, two fingers in her mouth, letting out another sharp blast of whistle into the air every few moments. What she called, Elizabeth didn't care to venture, but the noblewoman just stood aside, pistol drawn, ready for anything.

It only took a few moments for the jungle to fill with noise. All sorts of animal and bird calls, chittering and singing in the bright daylight. Elizabeth felt her heart lift. There was some life to the island still. She listened curiously at the different songs of the birds, unable to distinguish any of them from the avian creatures she had known, not in Britain nor in Port Royal. There were all so strange and utterly alien to her ears.

Sygne seemed to cock her head to one side, as if pricking an ear to the sounds, deciphering them in turn. Then, the warrior peered out into the jungle. The woman seemed to be regarding something in the nothing, her dark eyes gazing into the wilds. Abruptly, Sygne made an odd call in return.

Elizabeth jumped when the bushes beside her came to life and a golden mask like Sygne's pressed through the undergrowth. Harsh eyes gazed out from beneath it. The muscles under the leopard spots quivering and froze, as a horse ready to take off in flight. A flashing, golden spear pointed at her throat with ill intent. This new warrior stood proudly, defiantly, as Sygne did. The eyes shifted back and forth between Sygne and the noblewoman in her long britches, jacket and corset.

Abruptly, the newcomer dropped the spear tip away and knelt in a deep, respectful bow. 'Welcome, Sygne."

"I have need of an audience with our mistress right away."

xxxx

Lord Cutler Beckett couldn't believe it when his eyes finally saw this island. It was a beautiful, lush thing, a sparkling emerald on the Caribbean. This would the crown of his great empire once the East India Company controlled all of these waters. And that towering, elegant fortress would be his. Perhaps his summer villa.

James Norrington hadn't believed Jack Sparrow, nor any of the stories he had ever heard. Now, he believed. He believed in Avalon. And, worse, he believed everything Jack Sparrow had ever told him. Perhaps, just perhaps, the crazy, drunken scad of a pirate held a grain of truth and knowledge in him. And, in seeing it, Norrington could now understand and believe why Jack would rather die than give up the secret of this mystic seeming place.

Beckett looked to the sailors gathered about them. "That, my dear friends, is paradise in its self."

"Aye!" a cheer went up.

However, the nobleman just raised a silencing hand. "However, there is a god lingering on this island. At least, a person masquerading as a god. It, whatever it might be, needs to be eliminated." He smiled a deep, menacing grin. "I shall personally see to it that the man who brings me the head of this god receives a hundred pound bonus and a promotion."

The crew cheered again.

xxxx

Calico Jack jerked around as soon as he heard the cry. It was a cry of triumph and excitement. It was the call of men who had been very suddenly pleased and surprised by something. It was the call he often heard from his own men when a bounty had been issued.

But, around them, in this little cove, there was nothing.

Not even the other two ships. The _Royal Fortune _and the _Antigua _had been ordered to scout about the entire island, and circle back to the cove only if all was deemed well. And neither was in sight. Neither had returned yet. And they had been careful to remain as silent as the grave, so as not to disturb whatever god or demon ruled over this rock in the Caribbean.

Someone else had found the island.

Calico Jack looked to his men. "Bring 'er about." He pointed to the direction the sound had come from, on the other side of the great cliff that bordered the cove to the east side. "We've got company."

xxxx

"SHIP HO!"

The pirate perched up in the crows nest cried out the words as though they were his last breath. He screamed them with such fear and terror that all the hearts aboard _El Cazador_ and in ear shot skipped a terrible, tremor of a beat before steadying into a racing flurry.

Will practically launched himself at the deck rail, grabbing the rigging in one hand and still clutching the severed heart of Davy Jones with the other, pressing it into his chest. For a moment, from that vantage, his eyes saw nothing. Just the vast, blue heavens, and the ever vaster seeming cerulean of the sea and the waters about them. But, as the ship made just the slightest of turns to the starboard, a speck came into view on the horizon, much to Will's horror. A ship, coming straight the way they'd come, heading right for them and for Port Royal.

He held his breath, praying silent prayers to what god, he didn't know.

_'Please, please, please, don't be HIM.'_

But, as soon as the ship came just a hair closer, Will could see the tattering, shimmering sail cloth of the _Flying Dutchman_. He didn't need to hear the watchmen up top call out the name of the vessel. Will had seen it enough times, up close and personal, to know that ship anywhere. Davy Jones. He was coming for them, coming for the heart.

The heart, meanwhile, seemed to have grown a life of its own. It pounded more swiftly and surely, as if it were excited to know its master and owner were so close. Every moment the _Dutchman_ drew nearer was another beat faster for the hideous lump of flesh against Will's chest.

Barbossa's orders echoed dully in his ears. "Make ready the cannons!"

xxxx

"Hrmph."

Jack Sparrow didn't like that sound coming from Davy Jones when he jumped awake, still as battered and tired as ever. The damned captain had left his hostage out there on the deck, with but a half filled bottle of rum and nothing else. There, in the sunlight, Jack had drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, like that really mattered without his sight. When he did, the half-dead pirate would struggle with the rum bottle to wet his throat and dull the pain in a wash of rum, liquid salvation. There hadn't been anything to offer as per food or water, really, nor a comfortable space, being that the undead crew didn't need that, like Davy Jones would actually offer Jack Sparrow any of that. In truth, the rum was all Bootstrap Bill could offer his former captain. Without any help, food, water, or doctoring, Jack just lingered there, on the edge of death, left alone to his sufferings.

However, inevitably, Jack's sharp, keen ears, trained from thirteen years of fearing Davy Jones's retribution, would always prick at the sound of the cursed captain's voice, hauling Jack from his respite. Even this slight exhale in distaste had been more than enough to rocket Sparrow to consciousness, however slippery and hard to maintain it was. He lay rigidly upon the deck, frozen and trying not to move a muscle, to not draw attention to himself.

He turned his head to where the sound had come from, his eyes still looking about wildly. Then, Jack shut them suddenly and lay as still as death, hoping none of the other crew had taken noticed of him. How stupid he had been to keep trying to rely on them so damned much. It would take some time to get used to this disability of his, but Jack would not let it conquer him. He did let it shame himself when the man forgot about it. Instead, Jack opened his ears, listening carefully, catching each and every subtle, minute creak of the ship, even the clanking of cutlery in the galley decks below.

Fortunately, judging by the sounded, no one seemed to notice, leaving the pirate to lie there, his eyes closed lightly, but his mind and ears open now, as open as they could ever be. Initially, the broken captain struggled to map things out in his mind by the motion, but tracking so many noises grew a cumbersome and awkward task. Jack ignored all the clatter about him, focusing instead on Davy Jones, taking his own map of just the beast its self. The monster of a captain had dropped his voice to a whisper, trying to evade being heard. But Jack Sparrow had been listening too closely, too intently to not hear and to know where the captain stood off to the side of the ship's wheel.

"Damn him." There came a scuffle of boots on the deck, as Davy Jones sounded as though he were hauling someone close to him. "I'll see to it yer bastard o' a son gets gutted neck to navel if it's the last thing I do." His voice dropped to a barely audible, deep, throaty growl. "An' ye get t' watch."

_'Will!' _Jack's mind reeled, wondering how the boy had managed to get there. _'Strange luck, I'd wager.'_

"All hands at the ready!" Davy Jones's voice bellowed overhead.

The cursed captain, with his gnarled, tentacled head, had been playing a critical game here, Jack knew. Davy Jones banked on Jack Sparrow surviving to make it to Port Royal and take him to the heart. He was counting on regaining the heart, hoping the heart would give him control of the Caribbean again, wrenching it from Beckett's grasp. It was a gamble, but it was the nearest thing to any semblance of a "safe bet" in Davy Jones's case. However, the damned, undead captain had not been counting on this little variable of running afoul of Will Turner and Barbossa a second time.

Again, Davy Jones spoke softly, and off to his side, trying to keep Jack from hearing. "Go below. Have 'em muffle an' ready cannons."

_'So that's the plan, eh?'_

But Jack kept that to himself. He took a moment to listen about him, picking out the select noises and subtle nuances of the situation he needed. The ship pitched but ever so slightly, casting little spray on deck, while the sun beamed down warmly overhead. He could feel it upon his face, but his body shivered from the bitter cold, sending agonizing pains through him from his many injuries. That meant infection, but it also meant calm seas about them with fair, even weather. He couldn't yet hear _El Cazador_, her crew, or her cannons, meaning, with Barbossa at the helm, the approaching vessel had to be out of range still, far away. There came, however, not a breath of sound from above decks, but caught the stifled grunts and heaves as the crew pushing the cannons forward and into position below him. So much information that he could use.

In truth, it surprised Jack Sparrow how much secrets the darkness of his lost sight brought him in just the merest of sounds and scents. The deck of the _Flying Dutchman_, for example, reeked of salt and fish. Beneath that, there hung the faint hint of tar and polish which, where Jack lay in the shade, had not heated up yet enough to grow overpowering. Beneath that still, the deck smelt peculiarly of old rot. No, not peculiarly. It made perfect sense for the decrepit, ancient vessel to smell of rot. But, there was a second smell, a sort of gassy, decaying odor, ever so subtle. He knew that scent from somewhere, but where?

Jack pushed past that. He had been letting his mind wander, away from the pain, but away from the moment. That had been a critical error on only one other occasion, shortly before his mutinous first mate and crew had crowned Jack Sparrow the king of that damned spit of land. Even drunk, Sparrow's mind never flew far from his body. Well, perhaps, a wise man would argue that was excepting his death, but Jack didn't count that one in his mind. After all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, come back from the dead for, by great technicality, the third time!

Now, the fallen pirate grit his teeth. Slowly, painstakingly, Jack turned his body, rolling off his side and onto his stomach. The wounds across his body sang an entire new agony as his skin stretched and pulled. Fresh blood spilt where the cuts reopened themselves. He pressed his palms against the damp, worn decking.

Davy Jones's voice met his ears again. "Steady..."

In an instant, the world exploded around Jack Sparrow without any prior warning. He was left to beg, to pray, to whatever gods of the Caribbean within any shot of hope, to come to him, to save him from death one, last time.

But no gods answered.

xxxx

Sorry it's been taking so long. My DSL has been deciding to suck and my laptop battery is apparently "possibly fault," according to the good Mac people. Alas. But gentle excuses breathed upon a scattering wind. Hope you enjoyed the chappy!


	36. Battery

RED SKY

"Easy and quiet."

Anne nodded at her husband and pressed a finger to hips, gesturing for the crew to be as silent as the grave. The crew, well trained and well versed in the severity of this situation, did exactly as they were instructed, growing still and quiet. A mouse squeaking below decks became as a thundering trumpet amid the roaring silence. The decking creaked beneath their feet, growling as a dark beast in their ears, a dead giveaway, creaking right up the many ropes and lines of rigging.

The _Revenge_ slowly made its way by drifting along the gentle current and even stiller breeze. Calico Jack's weathered hand just rasped ever so slightly over the smooth wood of the ship's wheel as the experienced captain brought his lady vessel about. He danced with her, along the jagged reefs just a few feet below the keel's deepest breadth. All breathes were held sharply as the ship made its agonizingly slow, but steady and silent course.

A whistle. Calico Jack cast his eyes skyward, past the many pirates up in the rigging of the masts, holding the main sails and sheets steady. He looked, instead, to the watchman posted in the crows nest. The pirate up there whistled again. Calico Jack nodded slowly, acknowledging him. Then, the watch held up his arms, crossing them over his chest before holding up one finger.

A vessel sailing under the colors of the Union Jack, and just one ship. Beckett. It had to be.

He looked to the crew who had been watching with fearful, expectant eyes. Calico Jack silently drew his cutlass and his pistol, nodding to the crew. The pirates about him grinned from ear to ear their jagged, toothy smiles. There would be blood, and they all looked forward to getting their share.

"Strike 'em down, boys." Jack ordered softly before looking to his bride, Anne. "Get below, love."

"No."

Calico Jack shook his head and hugged her close to him, feeling her shallow breathes against his chest. "Anne, we've fought this 'ard t' protect ye this whole time. I'm not losing ye or my child to that godless son of whore if we fall t' 'im."

"Aye," Anne nodded, squeezing him tight. "You be safe."

"Of course, love. Of course."

xxxx

Up, up, and up, they walked. The island seemed to be steeper and more treacherous in the other direction. The rocks and boulders were sharper, more jagged and pointed, tearing at their feet. The roots seemed to seek out their feet in hopes of bringing them down. The earth its self had grown slippery and slick as thick oil. Sygne and Elizabeth went on foot, while the other warriors rode on the backs of their great, ebony steeds.

_'God tests his faithful always,' _Elizabeth dutifully reminded herself.

Absently, the woman gazed up. They were almost to the interior of the island and to the towering citadel of Hel. The first, great spire had already risen just off to their right from somewhere in the jungle. That shiny, creamy alabaster pierced the forests, casting its long, great shadow over this strange party of creatures. It was too far away to see what had been carved upon it, but, judging by the characteristic shimmering, the spire had to have been marked by the same, curling motifs as the rest of this unnatural castle of death. Up high, some windows pock marked the sides of the curving thing, but too high up to see if anyone inhabited them.

Elizabeth caught a strange sort of shift in Sygne's stature and her very bearing. The warrior had tipped down her golden mask before they had begun the hike, and the abrupt glint of reflecting sunlight in the noblewoman's eyes caught her attention sharply. Sygne had stopped moving, holding her head slightly to the side, listening to the distance, to the world about her.

The world exploded in the blink of an eye, the very beat of a butterfly's wings.

A shrill cry broke the stillness of the air. Their rose a wail across the island, mournful and heartbroken. Cries of agony and suffering. They were the laments of the dying and the dead. And, beneath that, were growls of the ancient beasts of the world, long forgotten by man.

It took Elizabeth a moment to realize what had happened. She had instinctively ducked at the first sense of danger, throwing her body at the ground and covering her head. It had been a smart move to follow and trust in her body's motion for, when the woman finally dared lift her gaze a second later, a lifeless form lay before her, twitching slightly. It was the heavy, furred covered body of one of Hel's warriors, shaking its last quivers before death took it.

"Sygne!"

Horsehooves stomped past Elizabeth's head. The steeds had been shaken, and they pranced about, sidestepping. They snorted and balked at being held by their riders, giving hard, thudding pounds of their massive, feathered hooves. Just as Elizabeth rolled onto her back, one of those well shod hooves came crashing down toward her. The woman gave a hard roll to the ride, away from under the weight of the great war horse.

Elizabeth's eyes followed the creature as it ran on. Crimson poured off of the stallion in buckets it seemed. Its eyes were wide, lined with white rims in terror. It burst through the jungle and plunged into the undergrowth, screaming as it went.

The noblewoman climbed to her feet, clawing at the muddy ground to get a grip where she could. Here and there, splinters of wood from the trees, knocked loose by some unseen, sudden force, lay scattered across the ground, tearing at her hands and fingers. Elizabeth's head spun as she moved; it spun moreso when she saw the horses and riders, pockmarked here and there with bullet wounds.

A hand grabbed Elizabeth's wrist before the noblewoman could even touch the cooling body before her. She turned to face the offending person and found herself staring into Sygne's too family, snarling mask. The warrior took up the fallen woman's golden spear as her own and pulled Elizabeth back and into the undergrowth, away from the excitement of the horses as they spun about, circling around the fallen warrior.

Elizabeth's eyes fell upon the corpse, now still and dead as dead could be. Blood ebbed from the exit wound of a bullet at the woman's upper chest. Absently, Elizabeth wondered what pact had drawn that warrior into Hel's service, what contracts had drawn any of them in.

"Beckett..." the noblewoman breathed in fear before glancing to the warrior beside her with the tiger stripes. "He's here."

"Attackers, from the South!" one of the warriors called, pointing downhill with a weak arm and shaking finger.

The warriors rallied around them. Elizabeth tried to scramble to them, to stop them from going on and into battle so unprepared. The woman screamed at them at the top of her lungs; she tried so desperately to stop them. They ignored her, spinning about one another and steeling themselves. They bolted down the hill, to where the volley of gunshots had obviously come from. Sygne, however, seemed to have other ideas, running uphill, along the scarlet trail of blood, leaving Elizabeth alone.

The noblewoman looked down the hill, to the broken limbs that had been snapped in the hasty charge of those great steeds. "YOU'RE GOING TO GET YOURSELVES KILLED!" She glanced uphill, to where Sygne had gone. "YOUR WARRIORS WILL DIE, SYGNE! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

But, from neither direction came any answer. Elizabeth sighed to herself, pulled a dagger from the dead body, hefting the golden thing away, and started off down the hill. Sygne ran to the lesser of two evils, but Elizabeth would be sure to deal with her later.

Another crack of gunshot rocked the forests of Hel's island.

xxxx

Calico Jack held his breath deeply. He couldn't believe their luck had run this long. The _Revenge _had slowly cornered about a rough abutment of rock and into a small cove, much smaller than the one they had initially stopped at. There, just at the edge of that rocky cliff where it looked like the island had just dropped off a chunk of its self into the ocean, the _Revenge _came right into range of this invading ship.

And no one aboard the _Herald Mark_ seemed to notice or care.

"Set the cannons, fire on m' command."

xxxx

James Norrington's heart sank the moment his ears heard the harsh, sharp crack of gunshot coming from the landing party. Lord Cutler Beckett had grinned from ear to ear, but Norrington just felt distinctly vile, as though he could- and quite possibly would- throw up right then and there for no reason whatsoever. He slumped against the deck rail, so unearthly depressed at absolutely nothing, gazing down, into the waters below him.

_'No. Not nothing. Something.' _James's mind wandered, but he forced himself to focused and to stare out at the island, watching for any signs of his crew. _'You were once an officer in His Majesty's Royal Navy. You should be able to watch the death of a god.'_

That was it. The very core of it. He'd helped Beckett to regain his position, but not to kill a god, or whatever this creature was that ruled this island. If it was a god, who knew what would happen to them and their immortal soul. While not an overly pious man, James Norrington had his faith in God, the Father Almighty, and in Satan's rule over Hell and dominion over the souls of the damned. And what bettered punishment that to rot in the very worst hell for all eternity if they managed to succeed in killing a god. They were, after all, mortal men, and had to die at one point or another.

But, then again, was an interesting proposition. If one were to kill a god of death, did death cease to exist? Did people cease to die?

Norrington's head spun with questions as his gaze fixed intently upon the island, upon the verdant green and sparkling, snowy white sand. This entire voyage, captaining the _Herald Mark_ under Beckett's command, the privateer hadn't believed that the island existed. He could ignore the grim reality to this task of Beckett's. Now, faced with the reality of it, and faced with the danger to his men, Norrington was forced to ask these dire questions and to find answers in rather short order!

He spun about on his heel, turning just in time to see the ship come up within cannon range behind the stern of the _Herald Mark. _Norrington glanced over his shoulder, to the men still aboard his ship, to Beckett at the bow, as the others were too focused on the island to notice this silently stalking ship. This newcomer ran up her colors just as Norrington returned his sight to it. A black flag, with a skull and two crossed cutlasses beneath it. Calico Jack Rackham, and his _Revenge._

The privateer looked to the island. This whole thing, this whole act of savagery against this island sanctuary, it was an unclean act. It was a sin, and a barbaric one at that. This was a crime Norrington had never realized he could have ever been duped by his own "logical rational" into committing. Oh yes, it was his logic, for that was what led Norrington to believe that no such island as this could exist in these waters, allowing him to bring Beckett right to it, right to this god.

Norrington gave a curt nod and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. "Come and take your revenge, Rackham."

xxxx

A lone man.

A lone man seemed to notice the stalking approach of the _Revenge._ Calico Jack watched quite curiously through the spyglass, seeing the once most feared Commodore to the pirates of the Caribbean. Commodore James Norrington. He stood at the stern of the ship, his arms outspread, and his head tipped back, looking at the sky spread out before him.

"Y'think 'e knows?" a crewman asked in a breath.

Calico Jack nodded, closing the spyglass slowly, reluctantly. "Aye."

"What d'ye think 'e's doin'?"

The captain let out a heavy sigh. "I'd wager 'e's figured out this whole thing's a grievous act an' is makin' 'is peace with God." Calico Jack looked to the man beside him. "Fire when ready."

"Aye, Cap'n."

xxxx

The jungle seemed to snap at her, coming to life. The branches and twigs caught Elizabeth's clothes and her hair, snagging and scratching at her as she ran. Her feet slipped in the mud, and she almost toppled to the ground. But the woman caught herself by merely reaching out, swung over the patch of thick mire that threatened to pull her down, and landed neatly on the other side.

Ahead, she could hear another crack of gunshots ahead. Horses whinnied, their terrified blasts of sound wrenching at Elizabeth's heart. The woman prayed the warriors weren't fairing too badly.

A harsh pounding, the sound of heavy, galloping hooves behind the noblewoman filled her ears. Elizabeth turned just in time to see Sygne's golden mask in that pile of fur and feathers. The warrior sat astride one of those black warhorses, as crimson blood dripped from off the creature with every horrible stride. Her gleaming mask was tipped slightly up, allowing her to hold the reins in her teeth. The long, stolen spear rested in her left arm, counter balancing the warrior as she leaned dangerously low to the right, her arm outreached.

Elizabeth snatched her, feeling the muscles in her own arm rip with the exertion. Sygne grunted under that mask of hers, still clenching her teeth about the leather reins. The noblewoman landed atop the mass of rolling muscles of the horse, feeling her heart skip a beat as she almost went right over the other side. But Sygne somehow wrapped and bent about, righting Elizabeth. The noblewoman threw her arms around Sygne's waist and holding tight about the warrior. As Sygne drew the reins down from her mouth, Elizabeth perched chin over the others shoulder, feeling the fur tickling at her face when the warrior adjusted her mask.

"Are you ready, Elizabeth Swann?" Sygne inquired, lowering her body and almost leaning over the withers of her bleeding mount.

Elizabeth grit her teeth, tightening her hold on the dagger and keeping it at the ready at her side. "As I'll ever be." The noblewoman drew close to Sygne, feeling the great muscles tensing under her as the horse galloped on, down the island. "For the pits of hell."

Another crack met their ears, as the ebony horse burst forth into a clearing.

"No..."

xxxx

"Steady."

Jack kept his ears on Davy Jones, holding his breath whenever a crewman passed him by. Thankfully, they all ignored the broken pirate sprawled on their decking. He whispered silent thanks to whatever god had granted that small favor.

"Hold," Jones whispered, still cautious of Jack Sparrow.

It didn't matter much anyway. But, then, Jack heard something he dreaded, something he'd been dreading ever since he'd realized it had been Bootstrap Bill who had pulled him from the waters. A dull, quiet, muffled, and barely audible thump. Like a footsteps overhead in an old home. Like a fist pounding on walls. Like a mallet, driving nails on a coffin. It was the sound of the grimmest, most terrible horror Jack could imagine.

It was the beating of that hideous heart!

And it drew closer, louder, by the moment, much to Jack's great horror. Will and Barbossa! They had to have heard the heart at Port Royal and snatched it up. They were bringing it back to Hel, but right back to Beckett and Davy Jones at the same exact time. Jack could have almost died laughing in delirium at that moment, realizing that the heart had to be on the approaching ship that Davy Jones was about to send to a watery grave.

Maccus's voice rumbled from Davy Jones side, back by the ships wheel. "Within range, Cap'n. Yer orders?"

"Give 'em the triple guns."

xxxx

The first cannon shot tore through the bowels of _El Cazador_. Planks and beams exploded with a burst of splinters over the crew below decks. The ship lurched to the side as the iron orb narrowly clipped the mast. Will stumbled to one side, feeling the sloop right its self under his feet just as the blacksmith stood up.

"All hands at the ready! Steady on!" Barbossa bellowed above the crew, calmest then and there, in the face of certain death.

Will remembered how stolid and stoic his rather recently appointed captain could be. As one of the masts had come crashing down over the deck of the _Black Pearl_, during one of their less fortunate meetings, Barbossa had not run. All of his crew had scattered, their eyes skyward, afraid to be hit by the great weight of the rigging, blocks, tackle, and booms. Barbossa however, had just stepped forward, slowly and deliberately, until he stood right in the midst of it. The pirate captain hadn't even flinched a muscle when the rigging crashed around him, leaving him completely unscathed and unharmed. Barbossa lived for the fight, for the blood, growing as still and as peaceful as a mighty lake.

The captain kept one hand on the ship's wheel, holding it steady, and kept the other hand up. "Hold until my command."

xxxx

"AND FIRE!"

As soon as the _Revenge _had skirted to the starboard side, casting her port side to the _Herald Mark, _Calico Jack shouted as loud as he could to all of his men, so loud that even James Norrington could hear the orders. The privateer just stood, waiting, his arms outstretched, welcoming the oblivion. He welcomed the volley of cannonfire, even as he felt his ship shudder beneath his feet with each shot.

He welcomed the end of this dangerous game of cat and mouse with gods and demons of the Caribbean.

Beckett's barked orders jolted Norrington back to the reality of the situation. "Enemy fire!"

James Norrington glanced about as his men flew into a tizzy and a rush. This was Beckett's sin, not his men's. They had merely been following orders. It was Beckett who had led them to the very edge of the world to try to bring low a god of death its self. These men, rushing to take up their arms and their posts for battle, had done nothing of the sort than enlist. And Norrington, as their captain, had been appointed to seeing sure to their protection and safety. They were under his fold.

He looked to the pirate flag, suddenly feeling a weight rise from off him. These were pirates, afterall, his favorite quarry, catching them with their pants down around their ankles. And a rather tasty little bounty was on the head of Calico Jack Rackham and more than half of his crew.

Norrington turned to his men. "I want the lead out! Move! Move! Move!" He took up his pistol and gave the ship's wheel a hard crank to the starboard, swinging the _Herald Mark_ into the breeze and in line with the _Revenge_. "Move like the devil is at your heels because he is!"

xxxx

With the first resounding booms of the cannons, reverberating against Jack's chest, the pirate felt his heart lift and alight, if only for a moment. The racking and clanking of the mechanics of the triple guns, rotating the cannons, made more than enough noise. It was perfect, the perfect sound cover.

Jack took his chance, forcing his body to move. He grunted with the effort, but, fortunately, for a moment, as Jack struggled to make his muscles move, no one seemed to notice. Every muscle in his body screamed in bitter agony, a symphony of suffering conducted by a mad man. His entire body protested against him, but Jack just grit his teeth and stumbled to the deck rail. He lifted his head, listening to the seas below for a moment, gauging where about on the decking he had been left specifically, trying to read the waves.

"Sparrow!" Davy Jones voice called to him, but Jack just ignored it.

The broken pirate captain gave a mocking grin as he hurled his body over the deck rail, to the waiting embrace of the waters below, shouting hoarsely, "Thanks for the hospitality!"

xxxx


	37. High Noon

RED SKY

"DAMN YOU, JACK SPARROW!"

Davy Jones shouted at the very top of his lungs, his tentacles quivering under his mouth in pure rage. Jack Sparrow had the nerve to jump overboard and take his secret of the lost heart with him. It made Jones shake with anger and desperation. He slammed his clawed fist against the deck rail, shattering the wood under it.

And that damned _El Cazador _drew nearer and nearer by the moment.

At least, to Jones's great pleasure and delight, Jack floundered in the water when he came up. There was still a chance to pick up the battered pirate and get the heart in the end. But, tickling Jones in just the right way, was the sight of Jack, bobbing up and down in the water, thrashing with ungainly, ruined limbs. Jack wouldn't get far, and Jones had the pleasure of watching him suffer in his futile attempt to escape.

"Maccus, would ye do me the honor of escortin' Captain Sparrow back here while I deal with these... interlopers?" Jones crooned, calming himself by stroking the long, slithering tentacles of his.

"O' course, Cap'n."

xxxx

Another volley from the triple guns of the _Flying Dutchman _sent quivers through _El Cazador_, up and through each and every one of the timbers, but, still, Barbossa held strong to the wheel, keeping on the heading. He didn't even flinch when one of the blocks came crashing down right beside him. The man just stood there, even as the breeze of a narrow miss of one of those great mortars brushed the big hat right off his head.

The _Flying Dutchman _cut through the water like a knife, skimming the surface it seemed, right up to _El Cazador_. The tattered, crimson sails had died slightly, as the wind had subsided just ever so slightly. _El Cazador _had been a fast ship, but, with each carefully aimed shot of the triple guns at the sails, rips tore through the sails, letting the wind loose. While the _Dutchman _ran fast and lean, her keel just resting so slightly in the water with the wind deep in the sails, _El Cazador _stalled, in a dead calm. The wind on their side died.

Barbossa grinned madly from ear to ear as the _Dutchman _came alongside the port side of _El Cazador. _His grin remained even as Davy Jones sneered at him from across the great gap between the ships. His smile did not fade when the side cannons of the damned ship hammered at his sloop. The pirate was waiting, waiting until he could see the details to those monstrous forms of those cursed crewmen of Davy Jones's service.

"OPEN FIRE AND GIVE 'EM HELL!"

The cannons exploded along the port side of _El Cazador_. A plume of smoke puffed up with each and every thunderous blow, with a burst of light. The shots were dead on, carefully saved and aimed to make each fire count. Davy Jones had thrown away each shot like timing didn't mean a thing. Barbossa had calculated and saved each and every round until he was sure of the range. The cannons of _El Cazador _tore through the brittle, aged, waterlogged and weathered wood of the _Dutchman_ with deadly accuracy. They punched holes in the ship just below the surface, letting water flood into the holds with great splashes of water. Crewmen were knocked down and swatted back like flies.

Still, this was a a crew of the undead, the damned to serve Davy Jones no matter what physical damage their bodies took in the line of action. Until the very end of the world, or their term of service before the mast, they would keep coming back for more. They would come, and come again, even as dismembered body parts, desperately seeking whatever quarry their captain had appointed.

The two ships drifted closer together, close enough to cast lines across from one to the other. Sure enough, even as Will realized that, a hooked rope almost smacked the blacksmith right in the head. He stepped just out of its path, to the left. The hook clattered across the deck until the line grow taught. Will glanced across the gap between the two ships as the cursed pirates were all tossing over such lines, sneering and grinning as they made ready to board. Will jumped with his cutlass, chopping the rope cleanly in two in one, swift motion, leaving a little notch in the wooden deck of _El Cazador._

Will ran back and forth, cleaving any other such lines with hooks he would come across. "DON'T LET THEM BOARD!"

xxxx

Chaos unfolded about them. Such loud noises. Such harsh bangs and booms as the gunshots burst out about them. Such screams of agony. It was a nightmare of the very worst, brought to reality.

Elizabeth had never had the opportunity to see the warriors really fight as a team. They moved together like the wolves and beasts in their masks. They growled and barked at one another, just as they had upon _El Cazador_ that one night. However, that night had been an ambush, and Elizabeth had never seen their true fighting style. She had never seen them ride into battle, their spears drawn and at the ready. She had never seen them charge to certain death with the heads held high and prepared for the dark, endless embrace of mortality.

They moved in unison, whirled about in a great circle, slashing out at the men before retreating into the undergrowth and coming at them again. Blood splattered and splashed onto the verdant leaves of the jungle as their golden weapons took down man after man from the landing party. But the warriors were not immune to the musket balls and bullets. They were warriors, of flesh and blood; good warriors but not immortal.

One of them split from the rest, rushing her steed right up and into the main pack of the trespassers. The warrior suddenly gripped the reins hard, and the horse slammed to a dead stop. The daring woman was spiked into the air, thrown at the men. She held her spear overhead and stabbed one of them before drawing back to swing at the rest of the group, but the men were just too much. They shot that one dead in a heartbeat.

Elizabeth's heart contracted slightly as another one of the warriors fell before the pirates under the fire. The warrior lay so terribly still and dead. She had been shot right off of her steed. The closest man, greedy, pillaged the corpse for the golden mask, claws, and weapons.

"LEAVE HER BE!" Elizabeth screamed at the top of her lungs.

She leaned close to Sygne as the warrior bore down upon the men, leading one last, desperate charge. They had lost six of their own, and the remaining seven seemed determined to kill these men at all costs. The warrior leaned down low, holding out her spear to the right. Elizabeth moved with her, shadowing the motion with the hand which held her dagger.

The men shouted and cursed at them as the horses came down, all of the them. They jumped back, still firing their pistols, some trying to draw their sabers and rifles to bring down these women. The great, ebony war horses broke easily through the line, scattered them, but taking such terrible damage upon them. Their screamed and whinnied in pain, but they bore on, stampeding through the line of the landing party.

Sygne made for damned sure to draw herself as near as possible to the man who dared try to take the vestments of one of her kin. Elizabeth threw her dagger sharply, making sure to land it in his chest. She watched him claw at the dagger, kept her eyes upon him even as Sygne sliced through him neatly with her spear. He had the gall to touch one of the warriors of Hel, and he paid the price. Elizabeth watched him die, knowing her hand it in.

Sygne nodded to Elizabeth.

The warrior jerked the reins hard to the right, bringing the horse around. She swung her spear with all her muscle. The warrior managed to slash the arm of one of the crewmen, but, as he stepped back, the man fired a shot at her.

"No!"

Elizabeth pulled Sygne to the side, as far away from the path of the bullet as she could. However, it was not far enough. Sygne's blood, hot and sticky, sprayed upon her as the searing hot metal slammed into her. It hit her directly in her right arm, almost making her drop the golden spear. The warrior howled in pain under her mask before clamping her jaw shut and gritting her teeth, silencing the noise. In rage, the warrior slammed her spear down swiftly, not even paying attention as the pointed thing came down, right into the shoulder of this man with a terrible crunch of tissue breaking.

"Whore!" the man shouted as soon as the cold metal pierced his flesh.

Elizabeth reached forward, worried. "Sygne?"

"No," the warrior snarled.

The woman reached down to take the spear and reins from Sygne, but, as she did, the warrior tightened her grip on the weapon. Elizabeth's hand had already curled around the metal thing when the warrior moved. Sygne twisted the spear harshly, feeling the muscle curl and catch on the flat side of her blade. Then, in a swift motion, Sygne dragged the thing from his chest with a strange ripping sound of sinew before slamming it deep into his gullet and giving it a slight saw under the warrior cleave right through to the outside. Viscera poured out upon the land.

Sygne sat astride the great horse, her chest heaving with each, heavy, panted breath. The warrior did not need to lift her mask to show her anger, her pure aggression. Her muscles, her body, her entire being radiated a pureness of hatred for these men who dared to adulterate her island, her home.

A noise caught Elizabeth's attention as a man shouted just beside them, not too far away. He ran towards them. The noblewoman lashed out, suddenly so horribly enraged, kicking at him. She jerked the spear from Sygne's grip and gave it a light toss over their hands, grabbing it just in time. Elizabeth gave a hard whirl around, bringing the spear with her body as she moved. The meal ripped through the man's chest, knocking him back almost dead by the time he hit the ground. He lay, gasping for air and pressing against the gaping wound in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. Elizabeth felt no remorse; this man wouldn't have if he had taken down the two women.

However, that was not enough. They had fallen, as a group, when the pair looked about and into the fray, no more than five or six in this last charge, while another three of their kin lay dead from who knew what had happened. They had taken our half of the initial wave, but it seemed a whole new group of men were approaching from the beach, heading up the island. A warrior barked at Sygne like an animal, drawing their attention to where she was locked in hand to hand combat with one of the men as she tossed her head in the direction of these new comers.

"I will not leave you!" Sygne shouted back in English tongue.

The warrior took her spear back up and kicked the horse sharply in the sides. The ebony steed surged into motion, throwing his full weight into a flying gallop and swishing his tail. Sygne galloped the horse as fast as she could, covering the only two or three strides in no time and nearly cutting the stranger in half with her spear.

The other warrior looked to her leader with the tiger stripes. "We are outnumbered! Protect our lady!"

"Fight well!" Sygne called, turning the horse away.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as the stallion bolted away, taking them up the island and away from the mass hysteria on the incline. She could have sworn she saw the other warrior, with the leopard spots, turn to wave a farewell to her leader and friend as they rushed off.

If that weren't the case, she knew she heard that last call of the warrior. "DIE BETTER!"

xxxx

Maccus had been built for speed. His whole life he felt as though he had been sculpted and carved from the air and the waters of the world. Joining Davy Jones crew had been a strange series of events, but Maccus counted it as a blessing. The changes in his body had been subtle at first, but, when his muscles bulged and his body streamlined, Maccus felt the speed in him. Like the shark, not on land. But, in the water, Maccus was untouchable.

He slid through the water, ignoring the battle behind him, swinging his legs up and down in one sinuous motion like a whale cutting through the water. Maccus secretly hoped his change would progress further. Then, maybe, if his spine shifted, he could move side to side like a shark and be swifter, even if just by a hair.

And, there, ahead of him, was Jack Sparrow, still thrashing about.

Sparrow had turned back to the ships upon hearing the cannonfire break out. He watched as _El Cazador_ had torn apart the _Flying Dutchman'_s hull, but knew it would be of no avail. That was a cursed ship, and as such, would never be taken down by something as petty and simple as little holes below the waterline. In truth, the _Flying Dutchman _hardly looked harmed by it, while the sloop took so much damage from the attack.

But Jack had bigger fish to fry, metaphorically and honestly. He saw the broad line of disturbance beneath the surface of the water of a large animal coming right at him. The shadow's shape, lurking just under that, didn't match any fish he knew. It had to be Davy Jones's second, that damned beast.

"Not good, not good," he groaned.

It took such effort to keep head above water, his body faltering and failing him with every minute. And the lull of sleep, of just giving up sang so sweetly and seductively in his ears. It took such effort and such work to just keep conscious and head above water. Jack had not an ounce of fight left in him anymore.

Sure enough, in a flash, Maccus's head broke the surface close by. "Ye're comin' with me, whether ye like it or not."

"I fancy not," Jack forced a teasing joke as he tried to scramble away in vain.

But Maccus swirled about him, snatching up Jack as he moved and hauling him back, back to the fight and the to the ships. "Davy Jones doesn't care what ye fancy. Ye owe 'im his heart."

xxxx

A heavy whomping noise hit the ears of the men on deck. Will glanced up and smiled to himself. As the two ships had drifted together, _El Cazador_'s crimson sails had quite literally stolen the wind from the _Flying Dutchman_. Those scarlet sheets billowed up and aloft. Will let out a whoop of joy as the sloop finally moved again, driving into the wind and picking up speed.

Will glanced to Davy Jones, who looked enraged at the thought of the sloop just sneaking away. The blacksmith just thanked his lucky stars that the damned crew hadn't been given the chance to board. The heart pounded swiftly against his chest, as if excited and angered its self. Who knew what would have happened if Davy Jones had gotten a hold on his undead heart? It was their only bargaining chip with Jones, Beckett, and Hel.

The pirates about him cheered and shouted, but Will knew this was far from over. He could see the glimmer of action in Jones's face. He knew the way those tentacles moved, in a calculating manner.

Will glanced out to the nothingness about the ocean around them, scanning for any bit of motion. His eyes were searching for any sign of something swimming in the water. They were looking for the kraken, for that hideous beast under Davy Jones command. However, they saw not any sign of the great monster, but splashing in the water, not too far away.

The blacksmith peered over the deck railing. "JACK!"

Will launched himself into the water without thinking about it. He felt the heart of Davy Jones float slightly, bobbing against his chest with a strange boyancy. He could hear the dulled shouting of the men of _El Cazador_, calling after him and barking orders. They threw him a rope, splashing in the water just ahead of him. Will grabbed it and swam as fast and as hard as he could.

A heavy sound thundered in the water, sending aches through his ears.

_'Damn you, Davy Jones, and your kraken,' _ Will mentally cursed.

He reached Jack in a moment, and almost gasped when he saw the battered, bloodied pirate. But the blacksmith had to focus. He drew forth his knife, the knife his father had given him, taking Maccus's distraction with Jack Sparrow to his advantage. The blacksmith stabbed him in the back, and Maccus dropped the pirate captain as his back arched out instinctively, reaching for the thing.

Another strike of the kraken call trembled through the water.

Jack slipped under the waves. He was spent. Mentally, physically. He had nothing left in him. The warm waters swallowed him up in an instant. But Will, bless him, would not simply let him drown. He dove down after Jack, taking hold of him and hauling him back along the rope.

"Reel him in!" the blacksmith heard his captain shout.

He held tight to the man, afraid that his grip hurt the pirate. "Jack..."

"I'm alright..." the pirate whispered.

But Will knew better than that. He saw for himself what horrors Beckett had inflected upon him. The blacksmith couldn't imagine how Jack had kept afloat as long as he had. Jack's right arm seemed dead and useless, marred by a hideous lump and dark purple where the bones seemed to be trying to escape. His face held a deathlike pallor where all the color had drained from him. His body felt hot, much more so than a normal person; fever raged within his flesh. Jack was dying, and fast, it looked.

But Maccus wouldn't have him getting away so freely, the blacksmith knew. Will tried to swim and drag Sparrow up the line, away from Davy Jones's right hand man as fast at he could go. The shark-man ripped the knife from his back and threw it as hard as he could away from them. Then, Maccus returned his attention to the blacksmith and the half-dead captain. The rope beyond Will grew sharply taught as the heavy monster began to pull himself up along it, baring his teeth at Will.

Then, the kraken call cracked again, ripping through the water.

Maccus glanced to the _Flying Dutchman_ for a second, taking his eye off his quarry. Then, he gave a menacing smile plastered on his twisted, contorted face. Then, Maccus sank beneath the waves and disappeared from sight.

"What?"

Jack stirred in Will's hold. "That damned 'eart. Ye have dirt fer brains?"

"A simple thank you would have sufficed," Will replied as he began to pull the pirate captain back to the waiting safety of _El Cazador. _He looked up, spying Barbossa himself pulling up the rope in a hurry. "Bet you never thought you'd see the day Barbossa would be helping you."

"'E's helping himself," Jack breathed weakly. "The kraken..."

The crew pulled the pair up on deck while Will dangled on the line. He held Jack slung over one arm, but the pirate didn't flinch, didn't move. He'd lost everything. He didn't even more the slightest when the water logged pair slipped onto the deck and fell into a heap. The rest of the crew bolted, returning to their stations and moving with haste that Will had never seen.

All but Gibbs. The man slowly, hesitantly touched Jack's shoulder. Will watched as the man crossed himself, held his breath, and pushed the pirate gently off his side and onto his back. Gibbs let out a gasp, and Will knew, from that simple act, just how bad it was.

"Mother's love, Jack." The beaten captain smiled weakly, making even Gibbs's sorrowed face soften. "Knew ye'd never let Beckett take ye."

"Never." The soft utterance from Jack's lips seemed more of an exhale than a word.

Will rolled to his side, scrambling to his feet and peering out to sea, to where Barbossa's gaze held. There was nothing, at first. Not a thing. _El Cazador_ had made great distance in that time, dragging Will and Jack behind it like a lure. And the kraken seemed to have taken the bait. The blacksmith hadn't noticed while they were in the water, but, on deck, now, looking back, he could see that mild hump in the placid waters, chasing them, coming for them. That was why the crew had been so hasty to pull them out and return to their posts.

Will placed his hands on Gibbs's shoulder and stuffed the sack of the heart into the man's hands. "Get him below and make him comfortable."

"What'll ye do?"

Will stole the man's pistols, both of them. "Kill the bloody thing."

xxxx

A/N: The game is afoot!

Again, this is another one where the chappie was ready yesterday, but my DSL apparently decided to take a crap on its self.

Now, this is where I make a wonderful warning to everyone. This story has to be finished, absolutely, without a doubt (well, with the exception of possible sequels!) by Nov. 1, 2006. So, we are definitely getting up to the gripping conclusion of RED SKY! I'm hoping everyone's been enjoying it, especially considering what I'm about to say...

I have good news and bad news, and it's all rolled up into one statement:

_**I'm officially going to participate in National Novel Writing Month ( for the first time THIS YEAR!**_

I've been a big fan of the haphazard novel, as you can see by much of my other stories (which the exception of Touching God- that keeps being a sour note with one of the people who inspired me to write it, so it keeps getting put on hold), I've pretty much written four almost novels in the last two years. So, I think it's time to put to the test and attempt the NaNoWriMo for the first time. This will just be a practice attempt for the big one, the holy grail of the haphazard novel. I hope, if work and life permits, to attempt the **3-DAY NOVEL (http/ **next year (Labor Day Weekend 2007).

So, what does this mean for you guys?

It means the continued adventures of the crew of _El Cazador _will be on a holding pattern unless someone wants to tackle a few of the things I really missed out on working with by writing so fast. How did Barbossa make his deal with Hel? What did Sygne do to get her contract? How in the Hell did Barbossa make it back to Tia Dalma's (although, I've always secretly fancied that Tia Dalma brought him back to make his bid at a contract with Hel!).

Between** Dead Man's Chest **_and _**Red Sky**, there are some plotholes you could fit a double-decker bus in. Anyone game at patching a few up?

But, we're in the middle of the climb to a climax here, and this is no time to talk about such frivolities! I've got more writing to do!


	38. Undertoe

RED SKY

Explosions tore through the _Herald Mark_. The _Revenge _had gotten the drop on her, sneaking up behind them with the stealth of a snake in the grass. Norrington had to admire the daring and the bravado of Calico Jack Rackham to try to just slink up behind a ship commanded by a former naval officer turncoat. He had to give the man credit for having the sand to try that number.

But, still, Norrington knew his men. He knew as soon as the cannons of the _Herald Mark_ had returned fire that there was no hope for any ship that dared run against him. Norrington and Beckett both had been sure to train the men well on that ship. Beckett had been sure to drill in procedures in regards to pirates specifically before assigning them to the flagship of the East India Company and the lead runner in his arsenal. After Norrington had taken command, he'd been sure to instill the very best of training his experience as naval officer as he could in such a short time.

His men were ready for anything, and they reacted as such. Every act, every motion, had been timed down to a perfect concert of action. In the gun gallery, the men worked in unison with one another, loading and reloading with ease. Norrington thanked their sharp wit and quick learning ability for that.

The cannon fire would take down the _Revenge_ in no time flat.

_'Pity,' _Norrington lamented to himself. _'She would have made a fetching trophy.'_

xxxx

Calico Jack Rackham knew, as soon as the _Herald Mark _came about and returned fire that there was nothing he could do. He hoped that the world would just come to an end right there, or that someone would come through for them. Whether it was the _Antigua_, the _Royal Fortune_, _El Cazador_, or Elizabeth and Sygne on their little quest to rally a god. Anything. They needed something, anything, to just help them get past the next few hours.

And, then, the worst thing possible happened.

Calico Jack watched in horror as a straight shot came right at them, right at the hull of the _Revenge, _just below his feet. A cannonball crashed right into the captain's quarters below him with a terrible thump, followed by and second and a third. And Calico Jack, standing there, atop the poop deck, had watched each and every one of them blast through the wood and into the quarters below, unable to do anything to stop them.

The deck shook and trembled under his feet, but not so much as Calico Jack did in his own boots. "Anne..."

Calico Jack leapt over the railing to the main deck below. There was confusion all about as more perfectly aimed cannonfire shattered through the gun gallery, killing so many of his men instantly. There was even more confusion when the first mortar struck beneath the waterline, sending a flood of sea water into the holds below. But those who had seen the metal orbs plunge through the captain's quarters where frozen in place in horror.

The doors to the quarters had been ripped clean of their hinges, as if blasted out by the sheer force of impact. The great wooden things were wedged at an awkward angle, not giving under the captain's clawing hands.

However, there was just enough of a gap there for Calico Jack to peer inside, ignoring the chaos and booms of the cannons all around him from two ships. The room had been torn apart and scattered by all three blasts. Much of the light in the room now came from the three, great holes in the side of the ship, allowing sunlight to pour in. However, a bit of light came from where a lantern had been knocked down and the fuel still burnt over a fallen timber. He tried to push past the sounds of his own men screaming, listening into the room for Anne's voice, or any sign of her.

"Anne, answer me!" he growled sternly, knowing if she heard, the woman would know to reply with that tone of voice and the seriousness of it.

No reply came.

"Anne!"

One of the crewman called from beside him. "Cap'n, she's taking on water."

Calico Jack ignored him, still ripping at the door, trying to pry and shake it free of its place and the remaining hinge, screaming the whole time for his bride. "Anne!"

The pirate grabbed his captain's arm. "Cap'n, we have to abandon ship, now"

"I don't give a damn!" Rackham snarled bitterly in the man's face, but, upon seeing the fear in his mans eyes, Calico Jack softened slightly. He had led his to the very pit of hell; he couldn't fault them for wanting to try and make a go at escaping Beckett's men for the jungle. "You lot go. I'm not leaving her. I won't."

"Cap'n?"

"Ye heard me. Abandon ship." Calico Jack returned his attention to the door, screaming for his wife. "Anne! Answer me, god damnit!"

He ignored the shouts of the crew behind him. "Abandon ship!"

"Anne!"

xxxx

"Hrmph. Leave it to pirates to give up before we have had any fun."

Norrington didn't like the delight in Beckett's voice. Calico Jack and his crew had given a valiant, last ditch effort to try to curtail Beckett's advance on the island and on the home of this god. It was a good effort, even if it were a completely futile one. Beckett had been sure to stock the brigantine to keep it from ever being out gunned by any ship on the Caribbean. The _Revenge _was no exception. But Beckett took far too much pleasure in such an easy win. There was no honor in this battle, none at all in any sense of the word.

Still, even as the crew of the _Herald Mark _laughed and taunted the men of the _Revenge_ as they swam ashore and bolted for the jungle, Norrington just stared at the floundering ship. He ignored the haughty bellows of his crew, and just watched. What a pity it had been that his men worked so well, so swift. Norrington hadn't had the time to even try to rally a boarding party before they began to bring the great pirate ship low. What a pity Norrington knew that the _Revenge _would never be salvageable.

Beckett grinned from ear to ear. "Excellent work, Captain Norrington."

The privateer gave a harsh sniff as the _Revenge _listed forward, going down by the bow and slipping below the surface. The pirate ship took on water swiftly now, but it seemed like all with their lives had deserted it in favor of the jungles.

"To finish the task?" Beckett said, with a raised eyebrow.

Norrington looked to him. "The _Revenge _is done for."

"I want her men dead as a doornail."

The privateer looked to the towering spires of the great fortress above them, and the sharply rising hill leading up to it. Somewhere, in the lush jungle of the island, the men of the _Revenge _had fled. This was a necessary act. They had to ensure there was no chance for the pirates to regroup and try to take them from the high ground of the great, white towers.

"Aye, sir."

xxxx

They galloped uphill as fast as the horse could take them, but, with that incline, the weight of two riders, and all its injuries, the ebony steed struggled to claw at the earth and the slick mud. He snorted with the effort to take each and every stride up the hill to the home of Hel. Sweat lathered on his straining muscles, mixing with his own blood. His ears flattened down and back, pressing almost to his neck. The horse didn't feel like he would ever make it.

But, still, Sygne urged the great horse on, giving him a squeeze of the legs here and there. She and Elizabeth leaned forward together, trying to coax even the slightest bit of speed out of the horse. Elizabeth knew Sygne would just keep on going, even in the horse died underneath her mid-gallop. Sygne had to get to her lady, relay the information necessary, and return to try to save whatever women were left of her warriors. Her desperation was apparently for miles around.

They ignored the gunshots below and the screams. But what was hard to ignore, was the terrifying booms of the cannons. One of the ships must have come into contact with Beckett's men. Probably, with any luck, it was the _Revenge._

But, then, there came a dark stillness to the world.

Elizabeth breathed into Sygne's ear. "Stop, stop."

The warrior pulled up the horse, swinging him about in a great, wide circle until they faced the near vertical downhill pitch. The jungle spread out there, before them, put, amid the patches of holes at the canopy, the blue of the waters of the sea below them could be seen. Elizabeth squinted her eyes, trying to look past the trees and leaves, to focus on the tiny bay below them. And, then, she saw it.

"Oh, god," Elizabeth whispered, her heart falling.

The _Revenge_ had almost completely sunk beneath the waves. The water had risen up to the portholes of the gun gallery. And the pirates of her crew, Anne Bonney and Calico Jack Rackham included, were no where to be seen. But Beckett's ship still looked as fresh and battle ready as ever, as if the pirates had barely put a scratch in her paint.

Sygne barely seemed move by it. "They died an honorable and worthy death. Any of us should be so lucky." The warrior glanced uphill. "We need to keep moving."

"Sygne... the pirates... our friends. We have to try to help them."

The warrior looked down, shaking her head glumly. "We cannot afford such time. They knew going into this endeavor that this was a distinctive possibility."

"But..."

Elizabeth didn't have a chance to argue anymore. The remaining floating ship seemed to have turned its attention to the island now. The cannons boomed and echoed in the stillness of the jungle around them with awful death knolls for the island and its lady. And, to Elizabeth's great horror, the metal orbs were aimed uphill, right at them.

Elizabeth wouldn't argue anymore, shouting, "Go, go, go!"

xxxx

The door finally gave, its last hinges ripping from off of the framing, and just in time. The water lapped about Calico Jack's ankles, warm and welcoming. He hadn't thought the damage to the _Revenge_ had been so bad, not bad enough to sink the mighty pirate ship. But, as she took on water that quickly, the _Revenge_ was done for good.

But Anne.

The room was a shamble, with furniture tossed and scattered about. The fire had spread across another timber, flickering, snapping and popping. Papers and books began to float over the wooden floor. Bookshelves had toppled over. Everything had been destroyed and ruined in one instant.

"Anne..." he breathed.

A hand, pale, delicate and tiny seemed, stuck out from under a pile of broken wood that vaguely resembled a table and chairs. It was still and fragile looking. And it was so deathly still.

"Anne..."

xxxx

Will ran to Barbossa's side, watching the water as the _Flying Dutchman_ and the shadow of the kraken trailed just behind the sloop. _El Cazador _had been carried quite swiftly through the sea, but it didn't seem to be quite nearly fast enough. The slight hump in the water kept pace, still chasing them.

"LIGHTEN THE LOAD! IF WE DON'T NEED IT, IT DON'T NEED TO BE ABOARD!" Barbossa barked to the entire crew. "Lose the excess weight!"

The men were tossing anything and everything overboard, except for the cannons and kegs. Will watched as rope, chain, line, furniture, food, and everything else went splashing into the water. They were urging the sloop faster and faster, dumping everything that wasn't nailed down, and some things that were. It was an all too familiar sight from not too terribly long ago. And, even now, Will didn't think that plan would work too well.

He gripped the pistol, climbing up a rung of the rigging, and shouted over top of everything. "No! Come about! Hard to starboard!"

"What makes ye think yer cap'n o' this vessel?" Barbossa asked.

Will shook his head. "I'm not a captain, but I'm tired of running. And we can't outrun this thing. It'll come after us, and keep coming until we're dead. It won't stop until Davy Jones has the heart." The blacksmith pointed to the growing hump of water, now curling with a slight wave as the creature came closer the surface. "That thing, needs to die, and I'm going to kill it."

"Have ye gone daft?" Barbossa called.

But it was Cotton's parrot, squawking over the fear. "Dead men tell no tales."

The crew glanced to one another and, then, to Barbossa as he sighed and gave a quick shrug. "Ye heard the whelp. Come about hard to starboard. Load and ready cannons! Get whatever sharp an' pointy thing ye can and brace for all hell!"

Will gave a half-hearted smile. "Ye heard him- move!"

xxxx

A/N: Alas, a little short, but I have to go to work.

By and by- get your pirate lingo ready! Tuesday is International Talk Like A Pirate Day, YARR!


	39. Barbarian Dreams

RED SKY

"Anne! Anne! Answer me, damnit!"

Calico Jack felt the water rising up to his knees now as he slogged through the debris. The smoke choked him, but the pirate captain just kept moving. The _Revenge _sank faster than he could have ever thought in a million years. He also would have never imagine fire to spread so quickly. Maybe it was just his imagination, but life spun out of control around him, like he moved in a viscous goo of time, slowed down from reality.

It took him a moment to reach the hand, and, when he did, Calico Jack almost didn't want to touch it. He feared what the pale flesh would feel in his hands. If it were cool and limp, Anne and his baby were dead already. If it were warm, who knew?

But, when the hand gave a tiny twitch, the captain couldn't help but hold it for all it was worth. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, pressing it against his cheek. Oh, how still and weak it felt. It stilled under his hold, but Calico Jack just squeezed it tightly. His salty tears ran around it, tracing the shape of her fingers on his dirty, soot covered cheek. He wondered if she were dying under the pile of wood.

"Oh, m' sweet Anne."

The water had run up, over his knees. It must have finally reached her face, for Anne's muscles suddenly tightened in one great contraction. She squeezed back, with a white-knuckled death grip. The woman gasped and coughed. She jerked up, and smacked her head into the pile of wood.

"Damn..." the piratess swore under her breath. "Jack... what's happened?"

He held her hand tight. "No worries, love. No worries. I'm with ye." Calico Jack glanced about. The water had already flooded much of the ship now; he knew it wouldn't be much longer- maybe a few moments now. "But we're in a bit of a predicament, love."

The woman laughed. "I noticed."

"Hold on, now, Anne," Calico Jack calmly ordered his wife, feeling his heart racing in his chest in fear for her.

He jumped up and began to tear at the wood above her. Surprisingly, most of it was a grand bookcase. The heavy thing had actually been on the far side of the room, on the side that now bore three, grotesque holes. The metal mortars had just thrown the thing aside as if it had been made of paper. And Anne? His precious Anne had been caught in the bookcase's path.

At first, the thing felt too heavy, especially as the wood started to soak up the water. Maybe he should have kept his crew longer. No. That wouldn't have been right. He couldn't doom them to this task. But, oh god, as his muscles strained bearing up the weight of the great thing, Calico Jack wished for their strength. Try as he may, though, he could only lift it just a foot or so, not far enough to force it completely away from his fallen bride.

"Anne, see if ye can crawl out," he grunted, still bearing the weight, his muscles burning with exertion.

"I can't!" The woman cried out shrilly. "I'm pinned."

Calico Jack gently set the bookcase back down, worried he's put too much weight upon her. He had to rethink this. There was a good chance she was caught by a rafter or just the weight of more furniture beneath the fallen, smashed bookcase. It was possible, however, that one of the ribs of the ship had snapped inward where the cannon balls had ripped through the hull. There was a great chance that, given enough water, the wood would actually lift up off of her. There was an even greater chance that it wouldn't, but it was a gamble Jack had to take.

"Anne, we've got to wait this out."

The woman must have been shaking her head; the captain could hear a mild splashing under the shelving. "No. Leave me, Jack."

"I won't! We've been through Hell together an' back. This is nothin'." Calico Jack glanced about, hoping for the water to rise faster and faster, to just lift the wood up or to drown them both in one quick flash. "An' ye know we've been through worse. Like 'at one time with the rum runners. Remember?"

But Anne didn't answer really. "Jack, I want you to know..."

"No, love, don't ye go talking like that," Calico Jack barked abruptly, almost too harshly, he felt, strangely.

Anne laughed slightly. "Ye never liked anyone talkin' that way, did ye?"

"No," he chuckled to himself, too; leave it to Anne to call out his failings in a dire situation. "Anne, we've got to wait for the water to rise up higher, to make this all float right off ye." He trembled now. "Can ye wait for that?"

"I don't know," Anne replied honestly from under the pile of wood.

Calico Jack took up her hand again, holding it to his cheek. "How bad is it, love?"

"Up to the top of m' neck," she answered.

The pirate squeezed his bride's hand, listening to the ship creak and groan in its own death around them. "Just a little longer."

xxxx

Ah, the heart. That damned and bedeviled thing. Jack could feel it with every step of Gibbs as the man carried his true captain to the captain's quarters. He drifted in and out of consciousness. But the one thing that never changed, was the heart gently fluttering against his skin.

"It's so light..." he whispered, his mouth dry.

Gibbs softly placed Jack onto the downy blankets of the big bed. "What's that, Jack?"

"The heart," Jack croaked in a barely audible voice. "It's so light when it beats."

Gibbs pondered on it for a moment, biting his lip in thought before replying as honestly as he could, "It's still just but the heart o' a young man thinkin' o' the love o' his life."

"No..." the battered pirate whispered.

"Jack?"

In truth, so close to mortality, Jack could see everything so honestly when he had the strength to open his salt encrusted eyes. He could see the life wrapping around Gibbs, like many silver strands. He could see the same strands about himself when Jack surveyed himself, but his strands were black and rotten looking. He could see the golden shackles of Hel's contract wrapping about him as many thousands of bonds to the goddess. And, more beautiful and resplendent of all, was the heart, glowing brightly as the fire of ancient magic within swirled and bubbled. The golden light even poured through Gibbs's shirt and the wrappings of the heart.

"It's so pretty," Jack breathed, transfixed by it.

"Shh." Gibbs placed a hand on his captain's forehead, feeling the heat of his fever raging within. "Yer burnin' up, Jack. Fever's bakin' yer brainpan, aye?"

"No. The heart..."

But Jack was drifting away again.

xxxx

"Run, run!"

Elizabeth shouted the order in Sygne's ear. She leaned as close as she could to the warrior, almost inhaling the ebony fur of her mask and cape. The noblewoman almost pressed Sygne right into the withers of the galloping steed as she crouched low over the rolling flesh and muscles. But, still, it didn't seem like they were moving fast enough.

"Go faster!" she bellowed sharply, right into the ear of the tiger striped warrior.

In truth, at first, Sygne turned and barked over her shoulder, right in Elizabeth's face, "We are traveling as fast as he can take us!"

But, then, even her face fell as she saw what Elizabeth had been seeing. All around them, cannon balls came crashing down through the leaves and the jungle. Towering trees were slammed to the ground with terrible cracks and snaps of the wood giving under the force of the heavy metal. Stray rounds came slamming down about them, kicking up dust, dirt and the undergrowth. Animals were running and fleeing all about them in one, uphill stampede. Occasionally, as it just did, one of the orbs of hefty metal would bounce up the jungle, alongside of them, skimming through the mud.

Sygne pressed herself down and into the neck of the horse, flattening out over his back and kicking him now, clucking loudly in the horse's ears. "GO!"

Up and up they ran. The grand spires of the Hel's fortress had come into sight now. They were almost there. Almost to the safety of the mountain stronghold. There, in the deep caverns and carved tunnels, they could escape the dozens of cannon balls that Beckett seemed to be hurling up at them without a care in the world. Elizabeth wondered how prepared the man from the East India Company had been to even dare to take on a goddess such as Hel.

Some loud banged above them. Elizabeth glanced up. They had been running through such deep jungle that the noblewoman hadn't noticed the beginnings of the fortress even that far down the island. One of the cannons had managed to clip the gleaming, smooth, milky white alabaster, sending out a spray of debris. But even Elizabeth, along the back of the massive stallion, at the very base, could see the bricks and tiles falling were huge and terrible in scale.

"Go faster!" she shouted.

Sygne answered back rather nonchalantly. "I am."

The first chunks of alabaster, some the size of a man, slammed to the earth, right in front of them. Sygne pulled hard on the reins, almost dragging the horse by his mouth around the alabaster. As each bit of ruined sculpture came down before them, Sygne delicately and not-so-delicately at times, threaded the stallion through them. He ducked and dodged, nimbly moving through the debris. They darted up the hill and around the ruined bits of castle.

"Sygne!"

Elizabeth had turned her gaze back at the worst moment. The warrior looked up as the cannons had finally gotten the range and angle right. The entire next volley was aimed right at the castle around them. Each cannon had fired with the most extreme precision, the likes of which she had only seen once, while the guest of Commodore Norrington upon the _Interceptor_.

Sygne kicked the horse harder now. "Hold on!"

xxxx

As _El Cazador_ slid into a hard circle, all crew braced themselves. They stood along the deck railing, watching with disquiet as the sloop came about. All eyes focused on the great, rising wave of water coming right at them now. They stood, some afraid, some angry, but all silent.

Will nodded to himself when the wave suddenly subsided; he knew this well. "It'll slam the keel and hold it right for a moment." Will looked to Barbossa at his side. "It'll feel like you've run aground on a reef. That's how it hunts."

"And how does it feed, 'en?" Barbossa inquired, raising his eyebrow in a coy, but serious taunt.

The blacksmith looked to his captain, his face set and determined. "The kraken is slow about how it stalks its prey, but it's fast in the water. It's a squid, or an octopus of sorts, but very swift. If we go to boats, it'll snatch them all up." Barbossa nodded, but Will added surely, "But it likes to take its time and toy with the bigger prey. That's when we get it."

"An what exactly do ye plan t' do, boy?" Barbossa again questioned teasingly.

Will took his captain's cutlass without even asking, and trading him for the pistol. "I'm going to kill it." He drew his own sword, ready and waiting, every muscle tense and on edge. "Kill the bloody thing dead."

His captain nodded. "God speed, 'en, Mr. Turner." Barbossa put a hand on Will's shoulder. "Yer a better man 'an me." The pirate captain then grinned from ear to ear, like a demonic cheshire cat. "But say we can still give it 'ell t' give ye a chance? I've been itching for a good fight t' death."

"You can give it anything you damn well please. Keep it busy."

Barbossa nodded. "Aye. Take care o' yerself 'til we meet again at the World's End."

Just as predicted, _El Cazador_ came to a crashing halt, almost sending the crew falling all over the place. This, despite the hefty gusts still holding her sails full and plump in their riggings. It was just as running aground, but Barbossa, Will, and the crew knew better. They saw the _Flying Dutchman_ coming after them to pillage whatever the kraken left. And, if they hadn't seen that, they knew the kraken had been following just off the stern.

Will gave his captain a glance. Barbossa had actually sounded as though he cared, as though he gave a damn. This was not the captain Will had remembered. But, then again, the captain had been a constantly shifting surprise away from the villain Will once had seen him as. Maybe, being cursed, had really meant cursed, in all way shapes and forms, damning his body as well as his soul. Maybe this change of heart was only because of Hel's contract with him. Whatever had happened to change Barbossa from the man Will had once known to hate with every fiber of his body, none of that mattered then.

All that mattered was the critical moment. And, most certainly, that moment had arrived. Will gave his captain a brief nod, and just let go of the deck railing, falling to the sea.

He shouted, though, as he fell away from the deck. "And you!"

xxxx

Entire breaks of walls were coming down now around them. Elizabeth held her breath as each great piece came down, hoping beyond hope they wouldn't be crushed flat by the alabaster. She hung on tighter to Sygne, wrapping her arms closer about the warrior's stomach.

"Hurry!"

Sygne gave a nod. "I am doing as best as I can-" A giant wall fell before them, blocking their path; the warrior jerked the bit on the horse's bit to haul him about, balking as he swerved into such a hard spin. "-granted the circumstances."

They were nearly home. Up ahead, Elizabeth could see quite clearly what had to be the entrance to Hel's island keep in the mountains. An elegantly curving bridge of the same, white stone led across a deep chasm. There were tall, carved doors, hewn from the same alabaster as the rest of the fortress on the other side, set into the mountain. On the other side of the doors, Elizabeth could see the breathtaking waterfall from the center of the keep and so many young girls in white robes rushing to try to shut the doors and barricade the fortress from the intruders.

"We're almost there!" Elizabeth cried in wonder and sheer joy.

But, before she could even finish the words, another section of the timeless spires came tumbling down, into the bridge. A large section fell away, broken apart by the weight and force of the rock coming down upon it. As the dust cleared, Elizabeth saw a gap, perhaps ten to twelve feet wide in the alabaster bridge. The were going too fast too stop now.

"Sygne!" Elizabeth screamed.

The warrior shook her head, spurring the steed on as fast as she could, despite the obvious tiring of the dying beast. "We can make it!"

The noblewoman shook her head. "No we're not!"

"We have to!"

Elizabeth shut her eyes, not wanting to watch. She gripped Sygne as tight as she possibly could. The warrior kicked the horse again and again, clucking and growling in the stallion's ears. Sygne urged him faster and faster. They leaned together over the stallion's back. The hooves clattered when those unshod hooves hit the first stone of the bridge, giving Elizabeth a cue of exactly how close they were to the gap. The steps grew faster and faster, and the muscles seemed to gather beneath her.

Closer, and closer and closer.

Then, there came a faltered sort of half-step. Elizabeth held her breath, half expecting to go spilling down and over the edge of the ruined bridge, to the rocks and cliffs below. The woman cracked open an eye and instantly regretted it as the horse leapt, throwing its weight into the air. The rocks below were smooth and even, as was the still pool of the underworld below the bridge. They were soaring through the air, over the broken gap.

They were going to make it!

Elizabeth's heart leapt in delight and relief, but, then, they came crashing down.

"NO!"

xxxx

A/N: SO CLOSE! So utterly, unearthly close! Hope everyone's having fun!


	40. Beautiful Friend

RED SKY

She coughed and gagged now, the water rising up and over her chin. Anne. His Anne was trapped as the room flooded, and Calico Jack was powerless to do anything for her. He just held her hand so close to him as the water gurgled and bubbled about them.

"Jack..." Anne whispered.

The pirate squeezed her tightly. "Just a moment, just hang on one moment longer, just a little longer, Anne."

"It's gettin' deep, love," the woman replied.

But, now, the water gushed in through the gaping holes. Calico Jack could feel the very weight of the the mighty bookshelf slip and give a subtle shift. It was working. And the ship, his _Revenge,_ had begun to speed in its descent.

"Hold yer breath."

xxxx

_'Jack Sparrow, you are failing my contract.'_

The battered pirate rocketed awake, jumping up in bed, and snapping his eyes open. He didn't need to see what others saw. No, for, in the darkness and void, he saw light about him. The pirate could see the light of life around him now that he stood a death's doorway. It was a strange thing, that had taken an odd effect upon the pirate, seeing people's forms made entirely of thin tendrils of life, silver and shining. He could see them moving about him, around him, despite there being nothing else. Even the rats below him. Like specs of life floating along in the void.

The golden chains that wrapped about his dark, rotting threads of life wrapped tighter about him. The heart flared as a flame in the darkness. Something drew near. Jack couldn't see, couldn't know the world about him in an honest sense, but he could see the inherent magic and spark of life to everything in the world. And he could see the hurried nature to all of the gleaming lights amid the void of his blindness.

"Somethin' wicked this way comes..." Jack said to himself softly.

Gibbs called from the darkness; the pirate turned to see a great, massive knot of silver thread in the nothingness. "Jack. Ye need to rest."

"It's comin'."

xxxx

They were coming, snaking up the hull. They gave a slippery sound of water, and a strange crawling noise as those great suction cups of the kraken stuck to the hull before popping off. Water splashed down from off of the beast as the monster aimed to bring down the ship.

Will was right. It did like to taunt its prey. Those massive tentacles waved back and forth, showing off.

"All hands at the ready?" Barbossa asked in a breath, training the pistol on one.

One of the hands answered in just as hushed of tones. "Aye."

"Let's hope the whelp can do it."

xxxx

Elizabeth screamed, feeling the horse fall out from under her and the warrior. She held tight to Sygne, who never made by a single sound. The warrior never screamed, never gave any indication of fear. Instead, the warrior just remained as stolid and emotionless seeming as ever.

They came crashing down in a tangled heap upon the alabaster with a tremendous thudding. Elizabeth heard a faint crack as they came down, but felt only the dull pain of the collision. How the tiny, almost fragile sound had even met her ears surprised the woman. The horse screamed one last terrible whinny as it fell before growing silent. It's hooves scraped the stone with a hard rasp. Metal clanged. There was so much noise and chaos.

Elizabeth looked up to roll out of the way and jump to her feet before another falling brick could hit her from above. Debris rained down at them. Dust and tiny pebbles pecked at her as it came down.

"Sygne!"

The woman glanced about to the mangled pile of ebony. The horse must have been in its death throes before hurtling itself into space, before it came down upon the hard stone of the bridge. Somehow, Elizabeth had been thrown quite clear of the steed's weight, and rolled off to the side, spinning about. But Sygne? The warrior went down with the horse.

A groan met her ears; Elizabeth cried out. "Sygne!"

She rushed to the horse's body, now seeing the mass of strangely different fur, not matching the mane. It was Sygne, beneath her mask and her one mane of black. The warrior must have gone down still astride the animal, with one leg pinned under the girth of the great stallion. Elizabeth reached into the fur, finding a slender but muscular arm. She pulled hard. The warrior's head suddenly snapped up, those dark eyes gazing out from under the mask of gold. And, reflected in those eyes, was another metal orb soaring through the air above.

"Move!" they shouted at one another.

Working together, somehow, they managed to free Sygne from the weight of the dead horse, just as the boom hit their ears. A heavy sound followed, the rumbling of rock and stone falling freely. They ran now, as fast as they could. Sygne clutched her side as they moved, suddenly slow and labored. Elizabeth dragged her, jerking on the arm when ever the warrior seemed to waver. They ran together. The girls at the door urged them on.

They were right there. But the rock that had fallen from up high was right behind them. It slammed into the bridge. Elizabeth could feel the structure tremble with every hit. And worse, she felt it give. The bridge buckled and shattered beneath their feet.

But they were so close, so very close.

"GO!" Elizabeth pulled Sygne's arm suddenly, jerking her forward and pushing her hard into the doorframe, onto the solid stone, diving after her.

The warrior rolled to look at the woman who had gone back for her, who had saved her very life. Sygne pulled her mask up and perched it atop her head. The warrior's face contorted into a terrible grimace, but that still and vanished after a moment. Sygne seemed to still her mind and quiet the pain, welcoming it.

"You're hurt," Elizabeth breathed.

The warrior wordlessly tightened her leather armor about her, tying the lacing as hard as she could. "A cracked rib. Nothing more, nothing less." She rose. "Nothing either of us can do for it." Sygne held out a hand and hauled Elizabeth to her feet. "Come. We need to see my lady. We need to warn her."

"Of course."

xxxx

"Anne..."

Calico Jack whimpered the word in fear. He couldn't hear her anymore. Not a sound, not a splash. Nothing. Anne had grown still under the bookcase. She was underwater now, altogether.

"Hang on," he said, giving her hand a shake. "Just a moment longer."

A great wave flooded the room, up to his chin. Calico Jack's arm couldn't stretch any further. He took a deep breath, holding it and plunging beneath the water. He just let the water pour in and over him, hanging on to his wife's hand. The rest of the room flooded in a heartbeat as the _Revenge _began to disappear from the world of man and the surface. Papers floated about, dancing on the current like little spirits.

Calico Jack let go of Anne's hand for but a moment. He grabbed the bookcase now and began to pry it up. The water had actually given the hefty wooden thing just enough of a lift for the pirate to pull it up and heave it aside. And beneath it, lay Anne, still pinned down by a great beam. She looked up at him, still conscious and fighting. His pirate queen, his warrior woman, his Amazon. Together, they heaved the last of the wreckage from off of her.

Calico Jack gripped her hand fiercely, guiding her out the way he'd gone. They swam for a moment, but her skirts caught up around her legs. Anne stopped him and tore off the skirt in an instant, leaving her legs free to move in her bloomers. They swam together, up and up, as the wreckage of the _Revenge_ sank around them. The webbing of ruined ropes and rigging threatened to tangle them, but neither would be stopped.

They broke the surface right as the last remains of the _Revenge_ hit the ocean floor with the awful crack of the hull ripping apart. They bobbed up out of the surface in a heartbeat, amid the bubbles still emerging from the wreckage. The pair gasped, gulping in sweet air.

Anne swam to her husband and threw her arms around him. "Ye'd never leave me, would ye?"

As she planted a kiss on his cheek, he replied, "Not ever, love."

Anne looked over his shoulder as they treaded water. "She's gone, Jack. The _Revenge_. Everything we've worked for. Everythin'." She cried, thinking of her unborn child, of the life they'd lost with the sinking of their ship. "It's all lost."

Calico Jack shook his head. "No, love. Nothing's lost."

"What?"

But she knew that look in his eyes as Calico Jack glared at the _Herald Mark_. The brigantine had dared to sink his ship, to take his men from him. Calico Jack was not a vengeful person in any sense of the word. Well, perhaps, just a little. But he did believe in a fairness and balance to the universe. And that captain was, by far, the most determined and stubborn man Anne Bonney had ever met in her entire life- including the illustrious Captain Jack Sparrow. That look meant that Calico Jack had a plan and would not stop come hell or high water until he saw it done.

"Let's get ashore, love," he tenderly told his wife, giving her a peck of a kiss on her cheek. "We need t' get you warm."

"What're ye thinkin', Jack?" She asked almost hesitantly.

"I'm thinkin' we're goin' t' need a ride out of here when this is all done an' over." The man gave a curt nod, helping her tread through the water to the white, sandy beach. "And, I intend to see we make it through this."

xxxx

Oh, god, how terrible the world smelt around Jack. He almost missed death to escape that god awful stench. It was worse than the odor than a thousand rotting corpses. It was worse, even, than Tortuga after a holiday or particularly good take.

It was the kraken. Jack would know that smell anywhere.

"Mr. Gibbs, I do believe we have reached impending doom," Jack groaned, his head spinning.

The tangled knot of silver, glittering strands moved slightly as Gibbs's voice called back from the pile of light. "Lie down now, Jack. An' close yer eyes." The man sounded distant, as though he were distracted by something, something close. A tendril of red, sick looking strands climbed up through the darkness and void towards the silver. "Ye don't have t' watch."

"I can't bloody see anything, damnit!" Jack snarled under his breath as each subtle movement of his muscles sent whole new agony through him, but the captain couldn't just sit still now that he knew.

Gibbs's voice whispered back. "Count it a blessin'."

xxxx

The tentacles swept over the decking, exploring, feeling the ship. Will had been right; the bloody thing did seem to enjoy tormenting and teasing its prey. The long, slimy things swayed back and forth, feeling every inch of the deck. The crew stepped lightly and silently, moving out of the path of those great tentacles.

Barbossa stepped forward slightly, aiming his pistol at the nearest tentacles. "On my word, unless hell."

The crew looked to their captain with fearful eyes. This was, after all, a mythical beast of epic proportions. And it had a hold on the sloop. _El Cazador_'s wooden skeleton creaked and groaned under the stress of the kraken's crushing build. The odds were stacked against them in such terrible amounts. And Barbossa had lead them into this mess. But it was Barbossa's stern determination and set face which spoke such volumes to them on what they needed to do. His grim features called the to muster their courage and put everything on the line.

Barbossa whispered to himself those words again. "God speed, Mr. Turner."

Then, he opened fire.

xxxx

The kraken was exactly as Will remembered it. No. For it was scarred and burnt badly from their last, little encounter on the Caribbean. The mighty beast hadn't yet learnt its lesson when pitted against Will Turner and a crew of Jack Sparrow's best pirates. It would keep persisting no matter what.

Gunfire exploded above, and the kraken let out a piercing whistle and scream underwater. The pirates were rallying, giving him his chance. The kraken squeezed harshly upon the ship, making the ribbing and skeleton of the ship groan in distress. The creature moved swiftly now. It's giant, dark eyes, like man-sized onyx stones, focused upwards intently upon the ship.

Will had to take his chance.

xxxx

They ran together, as fast as they could. Sygne led the way through the stone corridors and passageways as the continued bombardment ensued on the Hel's fortress in the hills. The warrior looked frayed and worried, desperate to get to her lady and return to the battle.

Suddenly, the hall opened up into the atrium of Hel's throne.

Sygne threw herself upon the stone before the throne. "My lady! My lady! I need to speak with you, my lady, Hel!" The warrior trembled; Elizabeth had never seen Sygne show even the slightest inclination of fear. "My lady..." The woman with the tiger stripes seemed to be quivering as she knelt there before an empty throne. "Our world is dying."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It's no use. She's not here; she can't here you."

"My lady..." Sygne breathed again.

The noblewoman looked to the throne, her eyebrows knit in curiosity. "She's not here, Sygne. You have to give this up. We have to help the others."

"No..." the warrior shook her head. "My lady would never abandon us."

Elizabeth grabbed Sygne by the arm and gave a harsh shake. "Face facts, Sygne! Your all-so-impressive lady has made an all-too-cowardly escape." Elizabeth glared in sharply pointed rage, feeling the same, familiar sensation of betrayal that had arisen within her when Jack had left them to be food for the kraken. "She's left you to save her own skin."

"No, Elizabeth Swann," the most serene and perfect voice the noblewoman had ever heard in her entire life. "I have not yet faded away."

The warrior smiled sweetly to herself. "I knew you would never abandon us."

"I cannot," the goddess answered as she came back to reality, flicking into existence. "But terrible wrongs have to be righted. My glory is fading, and our world is coming undone at the seams." Elizabeth noted sourly that her flowing, white robes turned to black as night, mourning garments. "My time has passed, and I have diminished."

Elizabeth just stammered as Hel embraced her warrior and shed tears of blood. "But... but you're a god."

"And gods do tend to die off in this world of ours," Hel quipped in a sorrowful lament. "Especially when their believers are slaughtered, taking what little power they have given me to extend my tiny existence," The goddess breathed, her voice shaking the ages. "For each step that these men take upon my land, for each advancement of this age, the power of the gods dwindles to nothingness." The woman stepped away from Sygne. "Your service to me has been impeccable. Your loyalty has never once been even questionable. But your kin are all fallen, and your time has come to an end as well. I leave you with one task to fulfill to your contract to me."

Sygne looked up with wide, timid eyes. "My lady?"

"They have failed me, those men," Hel whispered into Sygne's awaiting ears. "The contradiction surrounding the heart of Davy Jones has gone on long enough to sap me of my graces. I have nothing left to give this world. This house can no longer stand unless the contradiction is righted. I had hoped that they, as you did, would unquestioningly complete their task with haste and stop this whole thing from ever having to transpire." The god cried now slightly harder, and, where her tears of blood fell, crimson blooms sprang up from the rock its self. "You must do me but two final tasks. You must destroy the heart of Davy Jones."

"I shall ensure that personally, my lady," Sygne vowed solemnly.

Hel nodded. "Of course you shall. You have served your contract without fail for all these years, my New Victory." The woman hugged her warrior again. "And you shall be free of your bonds to me if you should protect the soul of wells until it runs dry as the desert."

"Then I shall do as you ask and nothing else."

The goddess entwined her arms about her warrior, glowing for a moment with the light of the sun. There was a still moment as even the Beckett's offensive attack seemed to pause just for them. The world yawned about them, suddenly so very expansive and endless. Sygne's tiger stripes glowed warmly for a moment, as if heated and orange. The quickly subsided and faded away to the dark, ebony ink of her tattoos.

"What remaining grace I have, I grant to you. May you serve me as well in my absence as you have in my stead."

And, with that, it was over. The magic of this place, of this person, diminished. It was as if Beckett's charge upon the island, his constant battery of the alabaster keep, had even sapped the energy from Hel. This land died around them as the power, the energy, began to face away. Even the alabaster no longer looked as fresh and beautiful. The island had been held together by sheer force of mental will on Hel's behalf, but, without the goddess, it all seemed to fade and die.

Sygne lifted her gaze as her lady shimmered into nothingness, as if she had never existed in the first place; Elizabeth shook her head. "What? What just happened?"

"She has diminished and gone to the sunless lands."

The noblewoman just gaped in shock. "How can a god die? What kind of a god is that at any rate?"

Sygne gave a subtle shrug of her shoulders. "What is any god when you truly think of it?" Elizabeth let out an aggravated sigh at the question, but the warrior held up a warning hand. "A point of view shared by many. The power of the gods come from their true believers, but, when there are none left, the god cannot exist. Her religion has fallen away from her. Her power came only from her contracts, but Davy Jones has taken all that with each and every bit of his power."

"So, what do we do now without her help?" Elizabeth asked. "We still can't let Beckett just up and have the powers of the well."

Sygne swallowed hard. "We fulfill our contract with my lady to its end."

"We protect the well of souls?" Elizabeth inquired. "How?"

"Any way we have to."

"Why?" Thunder boomed and blasted around them, but Elizabeth knew it was only the cannons ripping away at the fortress that magic and divinity could no longer protect from harm. "Why protect something that's doomed anyway? It's a lost cause, now, Sygne, when we should be thinking about saving whoever is left on this damned rock of an island."

"Because..." the warrior whispered almost fearfully and dreadfully timidly.

"Why?" Elizabeth demanded now.

"Because, if we do not, all remaining contracts with Hel are null and void. Davy Jones, his crew, Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, myself-" Sygne locked her gaze upon the noblewoman. "-your William Turner." The warrior bit her lip. "We break the terms of our contract."

Elizabeth had never thought of it that way. "What happens to one who breaks their contract, Sygne?"

"They become nothing. No life, no afterlife. Nothing."

The noblewoman gave a nod of her head, sure and determined now. "Then we protect her bloody well with everything we've got."

xxxx

A/N: Yeah, I kind of crappily explained Jack's death sight. Alas, I was having a bad day literature wise. I tried to rework it. Hope it gets through better this time. But, to make up for things, I've put everyone into a bit of pickle of their own. Jack's on death's doorway. The kraken's got _El Cazador _in its tentacles. Will's on a suicide mission to kill the monster; Elizabeth and Sygne are on their own suicide mission to protect the well, Will, Jack, Barbossa and Sygne. And the heart is still in play!

An' Happy International Talk Like A Pirate Day, YARR!


	41. Recall

RED SKY

They gathered, all of them, crying tears of blood. They were children and just teenage girls at the oldest. They were clad in their white robes, just as they had been before. But they no longer looked like serene tiny priestesses. They looked so weak and so defenseless, milling about in the vast atrium that had once been the home of the goddess Hel.

"What's going to happen to us, Miss Sygne?" one of them asked timidly.

A harsh, jarring sound signaled the fall of another wall under the cannon fire; the warrior smiled warmly to the children and knelt amid them. "Do not fear, my sisters." Delicately, maternally, Sygne wiped away the tears of one of the young girls. "Elizabeth Swann is here. She is going to take you to the well of souls and keep you safe. Will you not, Elizabeth Swann?"

Elizabeth gave a quick nod. "Of course."

Sygne approached her swiftly, making a subtle motion and pressing something heavy into Elizabeth's hands without letting the girls see. "Just in case of the worst." The warrior dropped her voice to but a whisper, allowing Elizabeth to see the golden dagger she'd placed there. "Do not let them be taken. I do not know what Beckett's men might do to them, and I hesitate to even dwell on it."

"I can't," Elizabeth breathed, suddenly horrified by the idea of wholesale slaughter of such innocents.

Sygne, however, remained as stolid as ever. "You may have to." The warrior turned to the children and smiled warmly. "Now, dry your eyes and take Elizabeth Swann to the well." She gave a sort of tiny laugh. "If you ask very nicely, perhaps she will tell you some funny stories of her adventures with the pirates."

"Pirates?" the girls gasped in unison.

Sygne nodded. "Yes. Real pirates. And I am certain Elizabeth Swann has a whole score of fun tales to share. Do you not?"

"Of course!" Elizabeth cried, worrying mildly if it were too excited, too eager sounding and abrupt. Thus, she calmed herself, tried to make her face more reassuring and soothing. "Come on, now, why don't you show me the way, and I'll tell you stories of the great Captain Jack Sparrow!" She stopped when she drew close to the warrior again. "You can't possibly hope to stop Beckett all by yourself."

"I can die bravely trying. If William Turner and Barbossa can bring me the heart, we can use what little of her it has left to bring Hel back, but I need the heart." Sygne squeezed Elizabeth's hand for but a second as they passed. "Live well, Elizabeth Swann."

The noblewoman nodded. "Die better, Sygne."

xxxx

The _Flying Dutchman_ was covering ground quickly, catching up with _El Cazador_ swiftly. But that was the least of their troubles as the kraken shifted and attacked. The initial charge of the pirates had surprised the beast, but not stopped it.

They were fighting a losing battle, and the pirates knew it. The massive tentacles of the unimaginable monster were just too large, too heavy, and too muscular. And this kraken had been at this game for a much longer time than the pirates. The sea creature had such great opportunity with all those years to perfect its attacks and defensive moves. With all its might and strength, Barbossa had doubted much that the kraken had ever come anywhere near being taken down.

The awful smelling beast just snatched men from off the deck as though they were but toys and hurled them to the wind. Barbossa ignored their screams of fear and wails of terror as they were flung to the water or dragged below to the monster's gaping maw. He had his own problems to deal with as one of the swinging, lumbering limbs lashed out at him.

"Come an' get me!" The captain shouted with all his might.

The tentacle came at him again, trying to just sweep him right off the deck of _El Cazador_. Barbossa had been expecting it, dodging to one side easily and firing off his other pistol at the tentacle. The thing jerked back as the dead on shot struck it.

But Barbossa had never seen the other tentacle coming for him.

xxxx

Dull, muffled screams ensued overhead, but Will focused on the beast. His lungs burnt with each long, powerful stroke of his arms and kick of his legs. Down and down he swam, careful to avoid the barnacle encrusted hull of the sloop. Will had heard tales of keelhauling as a punishment at sea, and knew for damned well sure to avoid the sharp skeletons of the parasites.

The kraken, however, didn't seem to notice. Will counted that as a bad sign. If the beast could put its tentacles right on the mollusks and hold tight as it did, then the monster had a thick skin, hard to penetrate. That meant this was just going to be all the worse.

Down and down he swam, still holding the cutlass as the ready.

As soon as he reached the head of the kraken, the very top of that awful beast, Will swung as hard as he could. It took a great effort, but the blade ripped through the glossy, black eye. The monster actually seemed to blink without an eyelid and let out a tremendous roar, echoing in the water. Blood poured forth with a crimson slick in the water, mingled with a frothy, white liquid that oozed out.

But it didn't seem to do any good.

xxxx

Something flashed in the darkness around him. Something silver wrapped in gold. Another of the three bound by their contracts to Hel had fallen off alongside him. Jack felt so very tired all of sudden seeing that.

He fell back down, onto his back.

The gold around him seemed to unravel slightly and strangely about what had to be his body. Even the light of the life around him faded so softly. The magic of the world was dying. And Jack knew it. Knew it right then. He was never so sad to see the light fade, to feel himself recess to the void of nothingness again.

The world was a harsh mistress in truth.

But it felt so much like this mistress was done with her pirate captain.

xxxx

Will continued to strike at the beast, knowing it would turn on him in a heartbeat, but the crew aloft seemed to be keeping it too busy to act. He poured out blood into the Caribbean, knowing the hunters of the waters would come. Will slashed with all he could, his arms aching with the effort to slice the tough, outer hide of the vile monster, of that pile of knotted tentacles.

Something splashed beside him.

Will turned just in time to avoid being struck from behind by a thrashing, black mass. He followed the motion as the current pulled him in a small circle. Will's eyes focused for just a second, letting him see what the beast had managed to pull off of the ship's deck.

Barbossa.

Will swam, as hard and as fast as he could, but the beast had the advantage over him. It hauled Barbossa, kicking, writhing and fighting, to its wide, open mouth. That circle of teeth about the kraken's beak chomped menacingly, sending a harsh click ripping through the water. Will grabbed hold of the tentacle that had ensnared his captain and began to claw his way up it, crawling along the limb.

The pirate captain tore at his jacket and pulled out a small pocket knife, stabbing the beast again and again. However, the knife was but a tiny thing. The stabs, while mortal or at least disarming to a human, were but flea bits to the kraken. Tiny spurts of blood rose up.

When Will reached his captain, he tried to pry the limb that encircled the pirate off and free Barbossa. The stories of the kraken's great strength had not been exaggerated. Now, Will wondered in all seriousness if Mr. Gibbs's tale of the kraken suctioning a man's face clean off could truly happen. The blacksmith didn't doubt it as he struggled vainly against the pulling hold of the kraken. The beast just held tighter, its tentacle wrapped about Barbossa harshly, with a popping of joints under the pressure of the kraken's hold.

Barbossa grunted, letting out a burst of bubbles. He shook his head at Will. There was no time. Will's air was running out after so long underwater. They had to move swiftly if either hoped to not drown.

Will gave a stroke back, moving away from the monster. The blacksmith held his cutlass, rusted but clean from the saltwater out, over the wriggling, grey limb. Will gave a quick line up, as close to his captain as he could possible dare with the moving mass of muscle. He looked to Barbossa for a moment. The captain gave a curt nod and just kept watching, trusting Will.

The blacksmith slashed down and through the limb. The blade went through cleanly at first before crashing down to the bone. The kraken jerked its limb about. Fortunately, the blade seemed to stick to the joint. And, where that not enough, Barbossa had reached out at just the right moment to grab hold of Will's shirt, hanging on as if for dear life.

And it was for dear life.

xxxx

_There shall come a time when you will be forced to give yourself for me._

Sygne had been prepared for that day since she had been reborn into the fold of Hel's island. She had been the first warrior for Hel, the very first of the Valkyrie. She had not been the queen, nor the leader of the Valkyrie. In truth, there had been other, better warriors for Hel that had gone on before her, but her contract bound Sygne longer. While the others came and went, rising and falling as waves upon the sand, Sygne had been forced to stay, held shackled to that island by the bonds of her contract with the lady Hel.

_There shall come a time when all is lost._

That time had come, Sygne knew as soon as she emerged from the western side of the keep, the opposite side of Hel's towering fortress. The entire eastern side lay in smoking shambles, with thin wisps of dust blowing this way and that, all because of the ship down in the cove. But the walls still served some purpose, even as tombs, protecting the deep chasm in the very center of the island, with its well to the underworld and the bridge to the sunless lands.

_There shall come a time when you will be forced to trust in your bonds._

Sygne had always felt she had placed her full confidence in her contract, but, looking down and over the island form the very pinnacle, the warrior felt an uneasy sense of doubt that had never troubled her before. The island lay in ruins. Her warriors, her kin, and her goddess were dead. And the pirates who had dared to help had been driven to who knew were, and most likely killed without a soul warden to shepherd their immortal souls to the afterlife and the sunless lands.

_You must trust in the grace I have granted to you to do what you need to do._

The warrior turned back to this, the most secret of entrances to the keep, hidden from the eyes on man by a powerful glamour and illusion. Inside, set into a niche, were weapons of gold. Spears. Daggers. Knives. Swords. Arrows. And bows of curving, curling ivory. Sygne slung two quivers of arrows over her shoulder, strapped whatever knives and daggers she could to herself, and took up a bow and a spear.

_You must follow my instructions to the death. Every last letter._

Oh, she would.

_Have faith, my New Victory._

Sygne steeled herself and began the long, slow walk down the island. Hel had promised her many things upon the making of her contract and the creation of the first Valkyrie. The goddess had sworn to her exactly what the end would be like, and Hel had known everything. Sygne's lady had told her exactly what the time would be like.

It was her time.

xxxx

The kraken burst out in a terrible shriek, thrashing and shooting out the tentacled limb madly. It swung harsh, almost throwing Barbossa into the hull of _El Cazador_. It seemed to have gotten completely focused now, intent on destroying the men who had dared raised blades to it.

Will sawed at the limb now, thankful that Barbossa still held tight to his shirt. The bone felt strong, too strong and thick to really cleave through. Inside, the blacksmith scraped up and done the joint, searching. There had to be a joint somewhere in the meat of the limb, or, perhaps, just enough of an old injury for Will to take advantage of and cut through. Sure enough, the blade gave a sharp jump, skipping over a ridge in the bone. The joint. Will took the opportunity to slash down between the gnarled, ancient bone, slicing the tip of the tentacle right off.

Barbossa kicked off the limb and swam up with Will, up to the surface, both of them scrambling away from the kraken. The beast howled in rage and pain. It moved to strike at them, but, suddenly, shifted away. The creature recoiled away from the ship. Even as Will watched beneath his feet as they tread the water at the surface, the shadow of the creature's form faded away as the kraken returned to the depths. And Will could see why as the wolves of the deep circled all the way down; the reef sharks had picked up the heavy scent of blood in the water and tracked it to the injured kraken.

Will looked to his captain. "Are you hurt?"

"Nothin' 'at matters much." Barbossa began to climb up the hull, pointing behind them, to the _Flying Dutchman_ as she covered ground, almost within range again. "We should be leavin', Mr. Turner."

"Aye."

The crew cheered as the kraken retreated, but, as Barbossa and Will both flopped onto the deck, they returned to their posts. They had to keep moving, and to go as fast as they could. They had to kiss the wind and ride the waves. Otherwise, Davy Jones would catch them. And, then, there would be a far worse hell to pay than being eaten by the kraken.

Barbossa rose and glanced over the stern, to the ancient ship giving chase before the _Flying Dutchman_ dove beneath the waves and the waters. "She's givin' chase. We'll lead 'im right t' the island."

"It can't be helped," Will answered honestly. "We have to bring the heart back."

xxxx

There were so many of them. So many children. For that was all they were. Elizabeth ventured that the eldest of the girls couldn't have been older than 13 or 14. But, seeing the age in their eyes, Elizabeth knew this was just an unnatural stunting, caused by Hel's magic. Who knew how old some of them really were in all truth and reality? Who knew what had brought them to the island?

They took her to the very pit of the island, to the deepest chasm in the rock. The waterfall still cascaded from above, splashing down and misting the girls. But it wasn't cold, not too terribly. The pool still quivered and gurgled with motion just as it had the day Will had hauled Jack from the depths.

It looked so benign, so normal. Elizabeth wondered, if Beckett found that innocuous seeming, perfectly circular pool at the base of the waterfall, if he would know what to do with it. The woman remembered, upon first laying her own eyes on the well of souls that mirror to the underworld, she hadn't know any better. Maybe, just maybe, they could luck out and no one would be any the wiser of the pool's power. But Elizabeth knew that was a fool's wish; any idiot could just feel the energy rising off of the water around them with the mist of the waterfall.

But, even as she watched, the waters of the fall began to recede and stop. Without Hel's influence, the island began to pull away from its self. The reality of this place unraveled as a tapestry being pulled at the strings. The last water dribbled over the cliff, and the pool grew still.

One of the girl's snatched Elizabeth's hands; the girl was crying, harder and harder with each rumble through the old stone of a cannon ball hitting home somewhere in the keep. "What's happening?"

"I'm not sure," Elizabeth breathed to herself before forcing herself to put on a wide smile. "But Will and Jack, they'll save us. I know they will."

"How can you be so sure?" the girl asked softly, fearfully.

The woman grinned from ear to ear. "Because he's Captain Jack Sparrow." Elizabeth picked up the girl, sat down, and placed the young one in her lap. "I bet no one ever told you the story of how he was marooned on an island by his own first mate, did they?" The girls all gave a gasp and drew near, sitting attentively and curious. "I'll take that as a no."

The pool had been so very still for a moment that, when it gave a bubble, it made Elizabeth jump. Her skin crawled to be so close to death. She could feel it. No longer held at the beckon command of Hel, the well of souls had grown restless and uneasy. Death abounded around them.

But Elizabeth forced herself to ignore it, for the girls' sake. "Well, Captain Jack..."

xxxx

A/N: Make my wishes for a Happy International Talk Like a Pirate Day a bit belated. I forgot to actually ADD the chapter after uploading! me silly.


	42. Sense the Stars

RED SKY

"Hold fire," Norrington finally issued the order.

He's been forced to stand by idly watching as they continually slammed the tiny little island and its grand fortress in the stone. Norrington had known, until nightfall, there would be no stopping Beckett's assault on the island keep. Now, without any light to see their targets, Norrington had to issue a cease fire.

Beckett, however, didn't quite see eye to eye. "We have them at our mercy!"

"Aye," Norrington agreed. "But this supposed god has yet to show its self. We cannot afford to waste any ammunition without a sound target."

Beckett fumed for a moment, then, calmed and stilled. "I want a landing party assembled by morning." The nobleman looked stiffly upon the island as dusk fell over it. "I want this island burnt to the ground and its secrets hauled out of the darkness. I want nothing left to chance."

"And nothing shall."

xxxx

Captain Black Bart had never been so glad that the _Royal Fortune_ had narrowly missed being a part of the rescue mission for the _Revenge. _On any other day, the pirate would have been honored to give aid to the likes of Jack Rackham and Anne Bonney. On any other day, Black Bart would have been pleased as punch to open fire on Beckett and his damned ship.

The _Royal Fortune_ and the _Antigua _had been scouting the outer reefs together, searching for any sign of any other British Royal Navy ships trolling about the outlying rock and crags. They had heard the cannons open fire on the island. They had been just outside of range. Both circled about the island at a distance, while Beckett's attention rested firmly upon the keep. Both sent scouts out to approach and get any news when the _Revenge_ had just vanished. Both scouts returned with just scattered debris, and both ships were quick to retreat to the safety and security of the fog and the ring of piercing, jagged stone. They had to regroup now that they had seen for their own eyes that the island keep and the _Revenge _were both gone.

But Black Bart knew his fellow captain well. Calico Jack Rackham was not one to be so easily silenced and killed. He would never give up so easily in any fight. They just had to wait.

And it seemed like their wait wouldn't be long; a lone row boat had been spotted.

"Let 'im board but let me know."

xxxx

Sygne stood silently over her fallen kin, her golden mask tipped back, over her head so she could survey the grizzly mess.

There was just enough twilight left for the warrior to see, but Sygne didn't need any light to see the carnage. Their faces and bodies were frozen where they lay. Their muscles had stiffened and cemented into such terrible, contorted shapes, locked into death's grip. The faces of those whose masks had fallen away were a mix of utter horror and agony mingled with a sharp peace. Their eyes were open, some wide, some slit, but all gazing up with a glossy, vacant stare, as empty as the earth and the rock felt about them for the first time.

Their lone, survivor, their leader, strode about them without saying a word. She walked to each of her fallen kin amid the pile of ruined flesh and bodies of both Valkyrie and man alike. Before each of her fallen kin, Sygne knelt. For each, she slipped the golden mask from off their face and paused just long enough to close their eyes. Sygne whispered a silent prayer over each of fallen Valkyrie, pausing to ensure she touched their wounds and their cold, dead blood.

Sygne replaced her own mask, letting the blood smear across the metal before standing and holding her spear out, and over them.

"You died valiant, honorable deaths. May we meet again in the next life."

xxxx

They were quiet, so very quiet, and so very afraid.

"Is he still giving chase?" Will asked almost hesitantly, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of the _Flying Dutchman _or the awful kraken.

Barbossa shook his head. "Davy Jones'll hunt us down 'til we're dead as dogs."

Mr. Gibbs came up from below decks as they were drawing close to the island, boding a strange sort of omen. He immediately walked slowly, almost reluctantly but deliberately to the poop deck, an odd look on his face. Mr. Gibbs, in regards to Barbossa, had treated his captain rather as a sort of commodity and a responsibility than a trusted leader. In truth, the mildly portly fellow had done everything possible to avoid even being in the presence of his so-called captain. This boded, in fact, for the worst possible scenario.

Will didn't want to really even look Mr. Gibbs in the face. The poor man had spent the entire day below decks with Jack, tending to the fallen captain. And, to preserve his own image of Jack Sparrow along with the pirate's condition, Will had deliberately avoided Mr. Gibbs by straying close to Barbossa. No news was always better than bad news.

But, now, Gibbs approached them, wringing his hands slightly and fidgeting with whatever scrap of fabric he'd found. "Cap'n Barbossa?"

"Aye?" The old pirate barely lifted his gaze from the horizon.

Gibbs took his flash, toyed with it, and stuffed it back beneath his shirt again. "S'Jack. He, he's dyin'."

Will shook his head. "We just have to make it to the island. We bring her the heart, and she has to heal him. She has to..." The blacksmith shook his head. "It's part of the deal, part of her contract."

"Be ye so sure?" Gibbs asked.

Barbossa gave a nod. "She 'as to. She will."

xxxx

The island grew still with nightfall, much to Calico Jack and Anne Bonney's exceptional thanks. As darkness settled over the island and the surrounding seas, Beckett's cannon bombardment of the keep had ceased. It seemed the East India Trade Company decided it would be best to limit their barrage of fire until daylight gave the viable targets, since not a light nor flicker of flame had been set upon the land or in the jungle.

The vast emptiness of the space yawned with a tired sort of exasperation about them. Silence roared and echoed into the earth. Not an animal stirred. Not a bird dared alight to the heavens. The world had become still and deathlike now.

Calico Jack, however, remained rather on edge. No amount of peace, tranquility, and utter stillness of the world around him would ease the pirate into an utterly false sense of security. So many years of piracy had taught the man well to now what this emptiness and silence spreading and unfolding before them was not to be trusted. This was just the calm before the storm. And oh what a storm it would be, once the first rays of dawn hit.

Anne shivered, tucking her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms about her legs; Calico Jack held her close to him while they walked side by side. "Ye cold, love?"

"A bit," his bride just breathed honestly.

They hadn't really had a chance to dry off, especially with the slight breeze of the island, but Calico Jack just rubbed her forearm reassuringly, trying to warm her. "It'll be fine. 'At Sygne's probably got a right fine fire."

"Probably not."

Both the pirates jumped, but they recognized the voice instantly. Sygne. The warrior had concealed herself well and tracked them easily. The woman had stalked them without a single noise and even replied without giving up her own location at the moment. The pirates spun around, peering into the dark of the jungle and the undergrowth, but seeing not a thing. There was but the shadows, looming plants, and towering trees. Nothing.

"Sygne?" Anne crooned softly and sweetly, trying to coax the warrior out.

The woman didn't seem to take the offer to come into the open, but she replied cautiously from the darkness. "It is I, Anne Bonney and Jack Rackham. It is Sygne of the Valkyrie, at your service." She seemed determined but weak, as if she'd seen some terrible truth reverberating with in the depths of her own, jaded voice. "I take it the _Revenge _is no longer a viable factor in this situation."

"Ye'd be right," Calico Jack coolly responded, a touch hurt to think of his lost ship but bitter in his lust to take the _Herald Mark_.

Sygne finally emerged from nowhere, coming out from behind a giant boulder. The warrior walked with an eerie sort of grace and delicateness, masking a ferocity laced in each step. It was as if the woman with the tiger stripes was walking to her own death proudly. She carried so many weapons with her. Between her strange sort of composure and the assortment of arms, Sygne seemed ready to face down the Devil himself. But the warrior's grimacing mask covered his mask, hiding any sort of emotion or clue to her true mental state. Judging by the dried blood and mud smeared over the gold, it was not good.

Anne shook her head. "Ye can't go down there, Sygne. Beckett's waiting."

"I must." The warrior looked down to the beach below, to the lights of the _Herald Mark_. "Continue on your current bearing, up the mountain and around the keep to the very back end. There, you shall find a passage that will lead you down to the safety of the halls. I must fulfill my lady's final orders."

"Final orders?" Anne breathed. "Your lady... is dead?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Sygne said as she skulked off, slinking her way into the shadows and out of sight again.

Anne looked to her husband. "Then all is lost."

xxxx

_El Cazador _slipped from the rocks and right before the _Antigua _and the _Royal Fortune_ while darkness, deep and concealing settled over them. Barbossa had made excellent time, driving hard and fast to the wind. They had even navigated the rocks and the mist in no time flat. But who knew how close the _Flying Dutchman _was still lurking in their wake.

Barbossa brought the sloop as close as he could beside the _Royal Fortune_ and shouted out, "Kidd? Ye there?"

"Aye," the resounding call came in the dark. "I was... entertaining a guest of sorts."

"Who?" Barbossa called.

James Norrington replied. "Me."

xxxx

"And, so, he lashed two sea turtles together and rode them to safety!"

Elizabeth finished the story with great pride, but she couldn't help but end it with a shiver. Something was coming, and everyone seemed to know it. The girls had all begun to stare at the base of the stone steps leading to the pool. And Elizabeth had felt certain she had heard a faint noise coming from the staircase, sometime around when Jack had gone wading into the waters in her story. Carefully, so not to reveal the weapons Sygne had given her, the woman stood and placed the girl from in her lap back and on the floor.

Carefully, stalked over to the staircase, standing just out of sight of the steps. Someone most assuredly was coming down towards them. She drew in a breathe as the form came closer, before tackling it.

And sending Calico Jack Rackham right to the ground.

"Miss Swann!" He cried out in shock.

She jumped back in fright. "Captain Rackham!" Then, she felt dark inside. "Where's everyone else? Where's Sygne?"

"We ran into Sygne. She's gone half-cocked," Anne Bonney replied, coming down the last few steps to the well of souls. "And the crew's gone. All of 'em." The woman stepped ever so slightly down the last few stairs to her husband, looking rather tired and old so very suddenly. "The _Revenge_ is gone. And all her warriors. All of them. They're all dead."

"And Hel..." Elizabeth shook her head defiantly, rather not wanting to dwell on it. "What about Captain Kidd, the others?"

Calico Jack gave a shrug of his shoulders. "They don't know nothin' now."

"Then, we wait."

xxxx

They never had a chance really to even react to Norrington's presence aboard the _Royal Fortune_. For, at that moment, in the distance, voices sounded in the darkness. Water splashed. A ship was near, passing through the straights of the rocks and crags. Davy Jones, bringing up the _Flying Dutchman _and her cursed crew of sailors.

Norrington knew it the moment he heard the calls of Maccus and the twisted, gnarled men, half monsters and fish. He knew Davy Jones had returned. The former commodore had been waiting for it, waiting for Davy Jones to return for his own slice of revenge. After all, it was James Norrington who had tricked the devil into losing his own heart. It was James Norrington who had dared go along with this plan to wage war against a god. It was James Norrington who had sinned time and time again.

Not to say that the others were not innocent. Especially not Beckett. If anyone truly deserved the wraith of Davy Jones, it was Beckett. But Norrington knew he deserved at least some small measure of suffering and retribution.

As the two ships, the _Royal Fortune_ and _El Cazador_ sluggishly came to life, slowly pulling forward as sails were let out and filled with wind, Norrington made his move. A nearby pirate had been securing some rigging. The privateer rushed him, snatching the rope from his hands and running. Norrington sprang as hard as he could over the deck rail, holding tight to the line and swinging over the gap between the two vessels. The waters lapped beneath him, as Norrington, feeling rather buccaneer and swashbuckler-like swung over the waves, soaring through the air. His legs were almost at _El Cazador_, but the rope had reached the end of its pendulum swing. Before Norrington could ride back to the safety of the other ship, he just let go.

The privateer landed right before Barbossa in a heap, clambering to his feet in a hustle and smoothing his jacket nonchalantly. "Captain Barbossa." The privateer held out a hand to be shook. "Captain James Norrington of the _Herald Mark_."

Barbossa spat in the man's hand. "Bloody navy son of a..."

"What do you want?" Turner snarled, interrupting his captain.

"I want the heart of Davy Jones," Norrington admitted to himself.

Will shook his head, feeling his own blood boil as liquid lava in his veins. "Ye think we'd just hand it over?"

"You would if you want to stop this war."

Behind them, the hideous, almost growling bow of the _Flying Dutchman_ pierced the fog, coming into the ring of the atoll now. Davy Jones. The crew of his cursed and rotting ship stood proudly as they overtook _El Cazador_. They made to circle about the sloop. All the while, Mr. Gibbs and the crew struggled to bring the sloop about, so not to run head on into the _Dutchman_.

"War, ye say?" Barbossa asked, raising an eyebrow.

Norrington nodded as Davy Jones and his crew lost sight of _El Cazador_. William Kidd and his _Royal Fortune _drew the fire of the _Dutchman. _The triple guns boomed with each pounding shot, but Kidd's crew managed to keep one step ahead. Barbossa jerked the ship's wheel to one side, tucking and dodging in the wind to keep up with them.

Norrington grabbed Barbossa's arm harshly, but the elder pirate captain just swatted the privateer aside as just a bothersome fly. "How dare ye!"

"No! You have to listen to me!" Norrington watched the horror of this unfolding all around him, the horrors of his own sins against whatever god there was in this life. "It's Beckett you have to worry about! He wants to kill the god!"

"Hel?" Barbossa and Turner both whispered with the gravest of tones.

Norrington nodded. "Aye. And he's to torch the island this morning, to kill anyone who has dared set foot on it. Any survivors of the pirates that dared attack. Anyone on the island. And the god its self. He wants to take the power of this place!"

Will finally snapped; he had put up with far too much from Norrington. "What?" He jumped Norrington, who just let the blacksmith punch him soundly in the temple. "What pirates, you son of a whore?"

"Jack Rackham."

Will's face went slack as he turned to his captain. "Elizabeth went with Rackham."

"And Sygne," the older man breathed. "What happened? Where are they?"

"I don't know," Norrington admitted. "But if you have any card to play, now is the time to do it. Now while you can break away from the _Dutchman_ and play your hand. Beckett will be distracted by Jones."

The blacksmith bit his lip. "The heart."

xxxx

A/N: dramatic music


	43. Monsters

RED SKY

They gave chase, sticking as close behind the _Royal Fortune_ and the _Flying Dutchman_ as the other two ships cut through the water as knives. _El Cazador_ sliced its own path. The sloop carved through the wakes and splashing waters about the island as the pirate ship ahead of them all led the trailing two ships away from the cove, away from Beckett, away from the sunken remains of the long fabled _Revenge_ and her dead, drowned crew.

Captain William Kidd felt a distinctive kick in his spirits. The game was afoot, and cannons shot about back and forth between the _Royal Fortune _and the _Dutchman_ like lobbing balls at one another. Davy Jones fought just as he did, without a care in the world, firing off round after around as though there no end the ammunition supplies on either vessel.

It made him feel oh so good and oh so rotten deep down inside. William Kidd was a pirate, extraordinaire, down to the very core. He was so often spoken of, so often named as the Infamous William Kidd. The Bloodthirsty Captain Kidd. Indeed, his crew had been accused of just about every god-awful and vile crime known to man. He'd been cursed thrice, when half his crew had been press-ganged into the British Royal Navy and, again, when the other half of his crew perished of cholera before accidentally killing one of his own men in a mutinous skirmish. All things considered, his history combining with his trouble present, the battle at hand most certainly put Captain William Kidd in an absolutely tickled mood.

He smiled to himself as one of there cannons ripped through the rotted, crustacean encrusted hull of the _Flying Dutchman_, knowing it would do nothing to stop the ship from chasing the offending pirates down to the depths. "Jones?" Kidd called softly, beckoning the young boy with his fiddle to his side at the helm. "Play us a fine tune, 'en, would ye?"

"I'd be honored," the whelp of a boy replied, giving a boy of his head before serenely playing a lilting waltz.

William Kidd nodded, grinning to himself. "Ah, it's a right fine night to die, isn't it boys?" The entire crew cheered at their captain's call, but Kidd was as serious as the devil himself. "Give 'em as much hell as ye can muster."

It was a good night to die. Stars sprinkled across the heavens, as a many shining diamonds, perfect and pristine, cast over a dark, velvet cloth. Not a cloud marred the endless, vastness of the sky. A full moon, tremendously full and amazingly larger than all reality, hung in the sky, casting its luminous, pale rays upon everything all around them. Even the waters and the winds were so very favorable to all three of the pirate crews. It was as if the gods themselves had decreed this, of all nights, to be last, utopian night on the plant just for them and their private war over the underworld.

He knew the _Royal Fortune_, while a sturdy, worthy ship of piracy and worthy of his own name, could not survive the constant onslaught of Davy Jones and his crew. No ship could ever face down Davy Jones and truly hope to do anything other than luck out in limping away. But William Kidd was a man of his pride and his honor. He had been a crafty captain for long enough to know to always have a plan.

William Kidd just had to hope that Barbossa and Will Turner were smart enough to do what needed to be done.

xxxx

"You have to give this up," Norrington growled. "You'll never be able to catch the _Flying Dutchman_ at this rate."

Will knew it to be true. The _Dutchman_ was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean. In truth, perhaps only the _Black Pearl_ would be swift enough to hunt down Davy Jones and overtake his damned vessel. Not any other ship in all the waters of the Caribbean could catch the devil himself.

No. They had to ensnare him, catch him in a trap.

But Will first had to consider the rat in their midst; he glared at the man beneath him, bleeding from just above his eyebrow in a thin trickle. "Why are you trying to help us?"

"Because I can't sit idly by as he tries to kill a god."

Will's brow immediately knit as he stared down, unsure of what exactly to make of this entire situation. "Kill a god?"

"Yes. He means to kill every living thing on that rock," Norrington spat.

"Everything?"

Norrington nodded, solemnly. "Everything."

Will looked to the horizon, to the two ships ahead of the sloop, locked in their battle. Both vessels occasionally flashed bright sparks and bursts light from the cannon fire and the explosions of gunpowder. There were whoops, screams, and shoots from both ships as the _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Royal Fortune_ waltzed their deadly dance together. Nothing would, or could, stop either mad captain from walking right to the very brink of the edge of the world in their battle. They needed a plan aside of just trying to run down the devil in Davy Jones, and a good one at that.

"We need to make a break for land," Will finally replied, before returning his gaze to Norrington. "If they take you back, can you buy us some time, stall for maybe even a few hours for us to trade back the heart, to try to rally Hel."

"Hel?" Norrington sniffed. "That's rich. Whatever god lived here certainly doesn't reside here any longer. Nothing has raised a hand against us except a small hunting party a landing party of Beckett's men killed, I'm told."

"Killed?" A voice gasped so weakly, so frail, behind them. Jack Sparrow had somehow managed, without Gibbs attending to him, to struggle his way to the deck. "They killed them?" Will hardly thought he would ever see such a horrified, pained look in Jack's vacant, unseeing, dead eyes. "All of 'em, 'en?" Jack took of a stumbling, lurching step forward, falling into the deck railing as he moved, knocking tears down his cheeks from his eyes. "E'ery last one of 'em?"

Norrington shook his head, his jaw hanging open at the sheer surprise of seeing Jack Sparrow alive, and somehow walking towards him. "I... I can't be sure."

"What about Sygne?" Jack demanded harshly, closing his eyes as if he were trying to steel his own nerves and track the motion about him. "Their leader." The pirate trembled slightly, chilled by both his fever and the slight breeze. "The one with the stripes all o'er 'er? What of her?"

Will glared down at Norrington, who had just clammed up and frozen absolutely. "Answer him."

"I can't be certain." Upon seeing the harsh disbelief wrought in the blacksmith's face, the privateer snapped bitterly, "I wasn't there. Beckett ordered the landing party before I could stop him."

Jack looked down, to where his feet surely would have been. He'd followed the fading light of the energy about him to locate William Turner, Barbossa, and Norrington where they had been upon the deck. However, all around him, things were falling to pieces. The silver strands of light that Jack had found to be people were fading, as his sight had once faded away to nothingness. The golden locks upon him just seemed to break and splinter, as Hel's magic began to lift. Something about the island, this world, this life, it was all dying around him.

"We need to get to the island, to Hel," Will informed Norrington as he let the offending captain up to his feet. "We need to bring her the heart."

"You still have the bloody thing?" Norrington breathlessly uttered.

Barbossa gave a sort of tired laugh. "Yeah, we still have the bloody thing."

Norrington glanced to the horizon, to the two ships as they both curved in a wide, swooping turn about the island, following the jagged shore. They weren't too far ahead, perhaps even in ear shot just barely if someone bellowed at the top of their lungs, the very top. And the stories. There had always been stories that the heart of Davy Jones would control him, control this world.

He had to take a chance. "Give it to me."

"You're not in any position t' be makin' any orders now, are ye?" Barbossa sneered as he still gave chase.

Norrington shook his head. "You need to get ashore, don't you? Well give me to the heart." He held out his hand, beckoning, waiting for the heart, needing it now. "Look, you've got one shot. That cove is the only safe passage onto the island and up to the fortress. That's why Beckett and I chose it to moor the _Mark_. Your only hope to get in their and get up the island is by getting past Beckett."

Will felt his muscles tense and clench instinctively, like his whole body still drove to attack Norrington, to beat the man to death. "You never answered my question, you know that?"

"What question?" the privateer inquired, frantically now.

The blacksmith looked to Jack, just barely even standing there, swatting Mr. Gibbs away every time his first mate tried to help him. "Why are you helping us?"

Norrington blinked. "Why? Why?" He shook his head, tossling his dark, brown hair and setting loose a few stray locks. "Because..." He swallowed. "Because I'm not entirely sure killing a god who rules over life and death in my part of the world is such a good idea." Norrington stared Will directly in the eye. "Because I have never been a good person. Not to any of the men I killed in the name of the crown. Not to any of you. And especially not to Elizabeth."

"Ah, there's the rub," Jack called, teetering as he still forced his body to stand upright. "Ye're afraid of death."

Norrington smiled. "No. Afraid of worse." He gave a mischievous glanced shifting between both Will and Jack, between both the pirates he'd fought that day over the chest of Davy Jones. "Elizabeth." Jack hooted for a second, but the burning agony of his body stifled that to a mild chuckle in a second before the privateer went on. "And Beckett. He's gone mad, Mr. Turner. Who knows what he'll do to these seas once he has the power of this god. We have to stop that from happening at all costs." The privateer gave a soft laugh. "And god only knows what Elizabeth would do if we let this happen."

Will shook his head. "She'd give 'em hell."

"Give me the heart, Mr. Turner," Norrington practically begged now for the cursed lump of undead yet live flesh. "You have to. Now."

"No, I don't," Will replied sternly, flexing his muscles.

It was Jack's voice, however, the changed his mind. "Ye 'ave t', Will. Sygne an' I 'ave unfinished business to attend to, 'er an' I." He fixed those unseeing eyes upon the blacksmith. "Much as Miss Lizzy an' I have unfinished business betwixt us, as well." Jack cocked his head to one side, his eyes drifting off of Will, unfocused and obviously unable to really locate the younger man in all earnest. "And ye wouldn't want yer darling bride t' be taken by Beckett, now, would ye?"

"Alright."

xxxx

There were explosions all about now. Cannons fired across the oceans around the island. Sygne could hear it, but the battle was on the far side of the island now. The sounds the warrior heard were behind her, just echoes in the rock beneath her feet. She knew the ship below would probably be unaware, distracted by the noise of their own, pre-battle revelry and preparations.

She slunk down about the island, moving as stealthy as a fox. The ship was before her now, but dawn would lift in just a few hours. The men of this vessel, this _Herald Mark_, would be upon the island, her island, now that Hel had left her responsible for the gateway, the bridge, the well of souls. Sygne had men to kill, but very little time. Her island would be tainted soon, more so than it already was.

Sygne set to work.

xxxx

"God speed," Mr. Gibbs whispered as the tiny rowboat slipped away in the wake of _El Cazador_, carrying in it William Turner, Barbossa, and Jack Sparrow.

And they would all need it. _El Cazador_ was the hunter, and she would never stop hunting. Not now, not ever. Just as none of them could ever, would ever stop fighting. They had to keep pushing, keep trying. It was this that would endlessly drive them. And, for that reason, the sloop continued on in the wake of the two ships ahead of it.

But it had left two rowboats behind it.

xxxx

The island had fallen quiet, like a sleeping beast lulling in the shadows. Will and Barbossa, together, shouldered the weight of Jack, who kept drifting in and out of reality. They half carried and half dragged him up the slope of the island from the slip of beach where they'd stowed and hidden the rowboat. Not a creature dared stir, save them. They began to move about the hill, towards the uphill climb to the fortress before the cove and the _Herald Mark_.

There was so much silence that it felt utterly tangible and almost threatening. Not an animal moved. No birds made any noise. And the fortress above was so dark and still. There came, occasionally, a boom from the cannons of the _Royal Fortune _and the _Flying Dutchman_. However, the island its self felt dead and dreamy.

"S'all gone," Jack would occasionally murmur under his breath in between unconsciousness and consciousness.

And it was true. This whole place was dead. A barren, dying rock. It was over.

It was all too very apparent when they reached the bodies. So many of them. Pirates and warriors alike. They had been spread where they had fallen, so far apart. It was unusual, yes, but Will hadn't expected to find a party. They had come upon a graveyard of sorts. Bloodied, battered bodies, illuminated only in what little, pale moonlight had

"I don't like this much, Mr. Turner," Barbossa breathed. "This place is a tomb now."

Will gave a solemn nod, trying not to give away any of the information of this atrocity to Jack, thinking the pirate didn't need to now. "I agree."

"They're all dead," Jack whimpered in an almost childlike voice.

Will glanced at the man in the darkness that he carried, at those dead eyes that stared down, unseeing at his feet; how could he have known? The world was dark enough in the jungle. It took a great load of peering and gazing into the shadows to ever differentiate the forms of the bodies, let alone make sense of their jagged, almost vile positioning. Will could hardly see them, but Jack had barely lifted his gaze to the many corpses.

"Can ye see them, Jack?" Will asked, curiously, but feeling a shiver run down his spine as though a vat of ice had been poured over his back. "Can you?"

"No, but I can hear them."

Will furrowed his eyebrows, but it was Barbossa who dared ask the questioning lingering on the blacksmith's tongue. "What are they saying?"

"It's a..."

Before Jack could finish forming the word in his slow and sluggish mind, the world snapped before them as a taught string. Perhaps it was as the rope that had given the final indication of what was about to happen. There had to be a rope, for all three of the pirates had heard that noise, that terrible noise of straining through a line, like rigging about to break. But, then, they were flying.

"TRAP!"

xxxx


	44. Time Dialation

RED SKY

Norrington moved as a cat along the beach, stealthily slinking over the sand, his eyes locked on the ship that lay at anchor in the harbor. The _Herald Mark. _She'd been his ship, his pride and joy, for just such a short time. It had been but a breath and a heartbeat in the grand scheme of things. In truth, he'd captained the _Interceptor_ for longer than he'd been in charge of this vessel, but how he had hungered for this post. The _Herald Mark_ had been his last, valiant stab at a good, decent, and honest life after his brief stint in piracy.

And what a valiant stab it had been. The _Herald Mark_, most certainly, had been one of the best ships he'd ever had the pleasure of commanding. The brigantine was responsive, swift, and nimble for a ship her size. She had been kept in excellent shape, even in comparison to the _Interceptor_, the pride of the British Royal Navy in the Caribbean. James Norrington had been proud to stand at her helm.

Now, Norrington stood at the ready to through that all away on a gamble, a chance. They say, in order to win the biggest pot, you have to place a bet, actually join in the game. He had to take the risk, take the chance. This one chance, to try to do something good and right.

Hell stared Norrington right in the face. Norrington had never been a truly Christian man by any stretch of the imagination. However, the privateer had tried, despite overwhelming adversity, to lead a good, Christian life. And, despite the fact that any other god would be a heathen god, it most certainly didn't strike Norrington as very Christian of him of to strike down a god. This being had never lifted a finger against him or his men, whatever it was, and Norrington had been taught to never, ever strike down an innocent.

The privateer held out the lump of beating flesh in his hand and unwrapped it ever so gently. In the moonlight, the sickly flesh shifted, glistening wetly under the moonlight. The thing thumped in his hands.

Norrington leaned close, whispering to himself, "I hope this works like it should." He whispered into the heart, into the mass of moving muscle. "Davy Jones..."

There came not a breath of wind.

"Davy Jones..."

xxxx

William Turner had been almost thankful that, when the net snapped up, beneath their feet, Jack just seemed to go limp beside him, slipping out of reality again. It was a blessing, for even Will felt twisted and contorted as the net swung. The blacksmith didn't have to wince and worry as much as he and Barbossa scrambled back and forth in the netting, pushing Jack aside as they needed.

Will glanced about in the darkness around them. There ran a line of braided hemp not to far out of reach. If only he just cut it and slice them free. But it was just out of reach, just a foot or so away.

"Cut us loose," Barbossa snarled.

"It's too far away," Will looked to his captain. "Together, we need to swing it."

The pair threw their weight back and forth, making the net with its human cargo sway as a pendulum. Their moved forward and backward, together. Jack just slumped between them. Will reached now, stretching his muscles as hard as he could and grasping at the line. He grunted as his arm strained to hold them all with the rope. But, suddenly, the line snapped up in his hand, breaking free of wherever it had been tied.

Will gasped suddenly, as the leaves and earth beneath them fell away, revealing a pit of sharpened spikes. The pit was not too terribly deep, but deep enough to hide the pointed tips of the rattan and wood spears. Now, it was littered with fronds, leaves, and chunks of plants, everything that had concealed the pit earlier. And then, hanging in the neat, were just high enough to be dealt serious damage- not from the fall, but from the pointed things beneath them.

A carefully laid trap indeed.

"Damnit," Barbossa muttered under his breath.

Will looked to the heavens. The moon had already begun to sink beneath its highest pinnacle in the sky. It would be dawn in a few hours. According to Norrington, in just the tiniest of handful of hours, Beckett would torch this island, turning the whole thing and any chance of stopping his proposed conquest of the Caribbean and possibly the world. By midday, this entire strip of uphill ground would be but twigs, cinders, and ash, if Beckett had his way. They had to work fast.

"This was a trap, a whole, elaborate trap," Will mused, thinking on it. "Quite a neat little set up here."

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. "Aye..." The pirate shot his seeming first mate a knowing look, quick and almost mischievous in nature. "Very well calculated an' executed. Like someone knew this island very well." He looked about in the darkness. "Someone who would be jus' waitin' ta catch a body."

Will turned as fast as he could, not caring who heard him, screaming at the top of his lungs, "SYGNE!"

xxxx

Davy Jones had rather been enjoying himself. The captain of this other vessel put forth a good show and a valiant effort. Every subtle stroke of their plots and maneuvers were a concert of blood and anarchy. It was a symphony of suffering and destruction, conducted by two masters of war at sea.

It wasn't until he heard it, the faintest of whispers carried loosely on the wind, that the pirate captain's attention slipped from the opposing vessel. "Davy Jones."

The man whirled about, but saw nothing. His men were all steadfastly at work. Their backs were turned to the pirate captain as they heaved to and kept on point. Occasionally, a call would rise up among the ranks, a barked order or shout, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nope. Nothing. Not a thing out of place, and not a stranger aboard to give a slip of the tongue and call that captain's name. There was no logical explanation.

Davy Jones shook it off, giving a toss of his head and those tentacles of his before returning his gaze to the _Royal Fortune_. "Give 'em everything we've got, an' then some if ye worthless sods ever care t' see port again!"

But, then, it came again, a thin tendril of voice, breathing in his ear. "Davy Jones."

"Who said that?" the captain demanded, blowing hotly through the slimy vent at the side of his jaw. "Who said it?"

His crew stood in shock, shaking their heads and returning to their post. Davy Jones looked upon the waves and the waters, before returning his sight to the weathered, dead, aged wood of the _Flying Dutchman_. He'd seen many a man go daft and dumb at their post after standing many decades before the mast, serving the damned captain, but Davy Jones himself had never been touched by such madness ever in all his years. Davy Jones had remained as unshakeable and as untamable as the seas themselves.

The voice was real, even if his men could not hear it. "Davy Jones, I have your precious heart."

"Damn you," Jones growled under his breath, crushing the wooden deck railing with his clawed hand, feeling the wood give, splinter, and snap, unable to stand before the pirates' unbridled wrath. "Who are you..."

"Come claim your heart, Davy Jones."

xxxx

"GIVE CHASE!"

William Kidd shouted the order as loud as he could, as his first mate cranked the ship's wheel about, hard to port. They had been soaring almost, gliding over the waters and waves away from the island when the _Flying Dutchman_ had suddenly thrown into a hard u-turn. The ancient ship came about, hard to port, just as hard as the _Royal Fortune_ now skimmed over the water.

The captain felt as though, is he reached just a few feet off the deck rail, he could touch the water, that was just how hard the ship came about. The wood creaked, and the ropes strained. The ship seemed to groan at all the seams and ribbing, as though the turn were just too hard, too severe, but the _Royal Fortune_ held together despite all that.

The _Dutchman_ had turned back; Davy Jones was heading back to the island, back to the shore, but for what? There was no way Davy Jones could know that the heart still lay with the crew of _El Cazador_. No. Something had changed.

"What are you up to?"

xxxx

Lord Cutler Beckett felt distinctly pleased with himself. This god was no great power and certainly nothing to worry about. If he had it his way, he'd have more than enough time to burn this island to cinders and be back in Port Royal before anyone could ever guess of this. Perhaps, even, Beckett would have enough time to swing by the World's End Tavern on Skeleton Cay and pressure some of the old gods and monsters residing there into enlisting in his service.

No viable force had dared raise a hand against Cutler Beckett, and the bloodthirsty trader counted that as a good sign. After all, this was just a myth and a fairy tale. Who could really think a god truly lorded over the Caribbean when such barbarous and monstrous beasts as Davy Jones walked the earth. No, there was no god over the Caribbean, no supreme force. There was no lord of these waters. Not yet; not until Beckett wrested that title from Davy Jones's cold, dead, deformed corpse.

Then, he could take this heart of wealth for his own, for the East India Trade Company. Then, Beckett would rule over all this, these waters, these people, these lands. It would all be his.

The men were preparing all about as Beckett said in his lavish quarters, penning a letter to the kings of both England and France. Someone would have to inform both of them of what events were about to transpire. Beckett surely didn't envy the poor fool who would have to deliver these letters, but they had to be written. How else would the monarchies of the world learn that their power had been lost to one man and one business enterprise? The world was no longer in control of the old lines and blood, but in the newer fighters, those who would work to claim their due.

Beckett savored every stroke of his quill pen.

_Regrettably, your crown no longer holds any power in these lands, nor do any people retain any fealty to your sovereignty..._

A knock came at the door, interrupting the nobleman, and almost making his ruin a perfectly hood declaration of war against the ruling classes of Europe who might dare attempt to come after the Caribbean again for their own. Beckett sighed to himself at what most certainly had to be one of the lesser knowing members of the crew. He took his precious time sanding the ink so it would dry and placing the letters in a safe place before opening the door.

"What is it?"

But he did not expect to see the man before him holding what he held. There, in the moonlight, stood James Norrington, and, rested in his hands, lay the beating heart of Davy Jones, bloody but alive somehow, even still. The man bore a strange, satisfied grin spread from ear to ear, despite the grizzly thing he held.

Norrington spoke softly, deliberately cool. "I have something you have been searching for. So very strange we should end up in this exact predicament again."

"How strange, indeed."

xxxx

"SYGNE! SYGNE!" Will called as his throat burnt with each scream; he grew more and more hoarse as he had shouted the name for nigh an hour or more. "SYGNE!" Will would never stop crying out for her, not until someone came. "SYGNE!"

"Ye're wastin' yer breath," Barbossa said as he heaved a great sigh. "She's not comin'." The captain felt at Jack's head. "He's done for, Will."

And, in truth, Will knew it now for certain. Jack had been weak the entire way up the hill, dying in their hold, but it was the spirit of the captain that had kept him fooled for so very long. Infection had set in. Will was sure of it now. Still and prone, Jack looked dead already in the net. His breathing had become shallow, almost imperceptible. His body burnt as fire. And no amount of shouting or rousing could wake the pirate. Jack held on to life by the barest of threads. He was dead already; his body just didn't know it yet.

Will shook his head. "No." He looked to the jungle. "She wouldn't... she wouldn't just leave us."

"Maybe she 'as filled other traps with more important prey," Barbossa pointed out glumly as he leaned against the woven net. "This game of ours is a lot bigger than you, me, an' Jack Sparrow. It's bigger than everything. This the Revelations. I beheld a pale horse, and his rider was Death."

"You never struck me as being a religious man," Will admitted half-heartedly.

Barbossa shrugged to himself. "I never was a religious man. Not really." He winked at Will, the barest of joking nature even in this dire of a situation. "I was, however, a great lover o' the written word and slave t' literature."

"Really?" Will blurted out, unable to hold the word in.

"Aye." The older pirate just kept surveying the darkness and the shadows of the forest around them. "Another person might call me a learned man." He gave a jaded sort of chuckle. "Never did me much good, 'en, did it?"

The blacksmith looked down. "Never did me much good, either."

Barbossa smiled, warmly, if such a thing could ever be said about the man's expressions. "_For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven_." He looked to Will rather pointedly. "_A time to be born_." His gaze shifted to Jack, to the glistening sweat on the pirate's brow and the stillness of his normally animated, comical hands. "_And a time to die._"

As if it were his cue, the fallen, battered pirate gave a hacking, debilitating cough. It sounded somehow liquid. Will eased the dying man on to his side, trying to press his back deeper into the net to keep its pressure from off of Jack. The pirate settled.

"_A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted_," Barbossa went on, snatching at the air, at nothingness. "_A time to kill, and a time to heal._"

Will placed a tender hand upon Jack, feeling the faintness of his friend's heartbeat, so different and frail compared to the undead heart of Davy Jones, so mortal and so utterly human. "It's alright, Jack. Everything's going to be fine."

Barbossa nodded at Will in what seemed like pride. "_A time to break down, and a time to build up._" The pirate captain looked out to the jungle, to the ship below. "_A time to weep, and a time to laugh._" There seemed to be something going on, as many lights flickered to life, but Barbossa ignored it as he said, "_A time to mourn, and a time to dance._"

"What's happening?" Will breathed, still holding Jack Sparrow.

"_A time to throw..._" Barbossa shook his head. "I... I can't seem to recall the rest." The pirate captain looked down, to the lights visible through the trees. "I don't know." The lights began to move now, coming to the island, but Barbossa didn't seem to care as he rubbed his forehead and complained, "I always got to there before losing my place. I could never remember the end. _A time to throw..._"

"_Away stones, and a time to gather stones together,_" it was Sygne's voice, in the nothingness and the darkness the called back.

Will gasped, but not another sound came.

Barbossa spoke now, to the darkness and void, to the shadow and nothing, remembering a bit more now with his memory jogged. "_A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing. A time to seek..._"

Again, Sygne's voice, sad and solemn, broke the night. "_And a time to lose_."

But she was nowhere in sight. Both Will and Barbossa struggled against the net to look into the shadows, to see her, but neither saw anything. There was not another noise, not a hint of motion. Nothing. The warrior was being careful, oh so very careful. And sure enough, indeed. Her net could have captured anyone or anything lurking beneath a glamour. But, oh how Will wished she'd just come out into the pale moonbeams already.

And, so, Barbossa spoke again, now confident in the end, "_A time to keep, and a time to throw away. A time to tear, and a time to sew. A time to keep silence, and a time to _speak."

Sygne stepped from the shadows to say, "_A time to love, and a time to hate. A time for war, and a time for peace._"

Barbossa nodded. "Ecclesiastes, 3:1 through 8." He practically beamed at the warrior blood stained and mud caked before them, as though she were an angel come down from heaven its self to appear before them. "Could you give us a hand, love? We're sort of stuck."

She moved faster than lightning, slicing through something, the rope that held them aloft, Will realized as the net began to fall to the spears. He almost let out a scream, but almost bit his tongue to hold his breath. Sygne kicked out, slamming her foot on the side of one of the rows of spears and knocking them down. The rest of the pointed things fell as dominoes in a line under the force of her blow. The pirates fell in a heap with a great thud upon the ground.

Barbossa snarled under his breath as he rubbed his head dolefully. "Ye couldn'ta let us down gently?"

"Jack..." Will murmured the name so softly, before crawling to the captain's side. At first, Will would have thought him long dead, but, after a barely audible rasp of shallow breath, the blacksmith looked to Sygne, concern in his eyes. "He's dying. We have to get him to Hel."

At any other time, the blacksmith and Barbossa would have found that statement ironic and funny, but Sygne saw no humor in it as she shook her head. "That is an impossibility now, William Turner." The warrior approached carefully, cautiously, as a panther on the prowl, before tipping her mask back and touching Jack's face, feeling the heat of his fever. "Hel is gone."

"She can't be..." Will whispered. "What about Jack?"

Sygne looked down to the cove beneath them. The little lights had reached the beach below, and they had begun to come on land. Beckett had sent his men early to the island. Soon, those lanterns would light the torches that would burn and scorch every inch of that land. There time had grown horribly, terribly short now

The warrior glanced up, determined and set as carved stone. "We must take him to the well."

xxxx

William Kidd was now absolutely certain of where they were heading. As soon as they came about fully, the captain had seen the island, a great, black mass amid the dark of night. But, as they came around a corner of the island, he could see lights, faint and tiny. That didn't matter. Kidd knew where Davy Jones was leading him and what would happen when they got there.

"READY CANNONS!"

xxxx

A/N: This is it. This is that moment when Locke decides whether or not to press the button, as Desmond is going through the papers. It's go time!


	45. Appeal

RED SKY

Norrington hated waiting. He hated it more than anything on the planet. The privateer especially loathed being forced to patiently more than stuffy wigs, stale hardtack in water, and Jack Sparrow. He especially hated waiting for someone to take the bait to his own ploys.

But it wouldn't be long now.

Not long at all.

"Men, to land!" Beckett ordered. "I'll take that, is you don't mind," the nobleman said, snatching the heart from Norrington's hand. "Now that we have the heart of Davy Jones, this island is nothing. Burn it to cinders."

Norrington nodded. "Aye."

xxxx

Davy Jones smiled to himself.

That damned military man. Norrington. It was the pirate gone traitor his men had told him about on that spit of land where they'd hidden the heart. He had brought the heart here, to Hel! How could they have known anything about this island and the thing he'd made his terrible pact with?

And, yet, somehow, someone knew.

Tia Dalma.

It had to have been her. His one, true love. Tia Dalma. A woman as beautiful, changing, and terrible as the seas that had become his cursed home. A woman with the terrible ability to see straight to the core. A woman he had killed to try to have her. And Davy Jones had given his own soul in a bargain to bring Tia Dalma back from the dead. It was all his fault, yes, and she had loathed him for the act. But that was behind him now.

What lay before him was his heart, and the island, Hel's island.

Davy Jones curled his tentacled hand into a passable fist, and slammed his other, clawed hand down on the deck railing. If that heart made it back to Hel, with all the sins he had committed against his contract, Hel would take back her gift unto him. He'd take back his cursed life- and, more importantly, Tia Dalma. His heart fluttered in terror. Hel would reclaim her contract upon them and whatever spoils had been reaped as such, including the long overdue mortality of his beloved.

"Get me the heart at all costs."

Bootstrap Bill had never seen his captain so flustered, so nervous and off seeming in his entire un-life. There was something entirely wrong with his normally steadfast and sure Captain Davy Jones, master of Hell and the Seas. Normally, Davy Jones would be ready and cocksure about running headfirst into battle, a grin on his face at the thought of the suffering to come. But, now, Davy Jones glared and frowned harshly, his eyes holding but the tiniest tremor of fear.

Bootstrap glanced to the island, the dark mass of land. Who knew what manner of gods or demons resided there, but it was most certainly something that struck fear into the heart of Davy Jones. Therefore, it was most certainly something for all the crew to fear.

"Aye, Cap'n."

xxxx

Canonfire! Booming and splashing erupted behind the _Herald Mark_. James Norrington grinned from ear to ear as he watched the _Flying Dutchman _began to close in on the brigantine, finally within range to begin its assault on these intruders upon this sacred of lands.

It didn't matter now.

Norrington turned to the island, looking to that place of gods and demons. Davy Jones had been too slow in taking the bait to strike at Beckett and his _Herald Mark_. The men had already reached the island and were starting the slow march to the pinnacle, setting fire upon everything they found. He could see their progress starting up the land with the orange, shifting glow of flames eating the lush jungles.

To make it worse, Beckett was there, and not with Norrington on the _Herald Mark_, and he had the heart. Norrington and his men aboard the ship where defenseless. And all hell was coming towards them, as the gunner crew of the _Flying Dutchman_, having near centuries to practice their art of warfare, found the range and angle of the brigantine where she lay in the cove. They were boxed in, with the pirates getting their aim and mark.

"Load cannons!"

xxxx

The smoke choked at them, arid and awful. It was pervasive, drawn up the side of the mountain by the updrafts. Will had never really noticed them until now. Every few moments, with the rolling waves, another puff of breeze swirled uphill, towards the very pinnacle. It must have brought fresh, cool air upwards, keeping the island entirely nice and temperate, not too hot in the summer and not too cool in the winter. It had made the island one of the most pleasant and perfect places in the world, but, now, it drew the terrible, thickening dark smoke of the fires below up and to them.

And Jack? God, he slowed them down. He couldn't walk at all anymore, and, as they carried him, the pirate captain's feet just dragged upon the ground. The man seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each passing stride. It was as if Jack's dying had become a physic thing, weighing the man down as irons. Sygne led the way, as Barbossa and Jack shouldered his weight.

Fire spread swiftly on the island, with little running water cutting downhill to stem it. Instead, with the thick undergrowth and dried leaves blanketing the jungle floor, there entire land became ripe for flame. The fires spread quickly, racing uphill. In the darkness, they could see the licks of fire growing and flowing uphill, like liquid tongues of light, racing to them. Soon, even the ground they dared tread upon would be engulfed by the conflagration.

Jack hacked a liquid sounding cough, half in and half out of consciousness, causing Will to take pause. "Sygne." The warrior just stopped dead, barely giving a glance over her shoulder to them. "We have to stop. He can't take this pace."

Sygne looked down the mountain, to the steadily approaching glow of the flames. She could hear their voices, Beckett's men. They were shouting back and forth as they reveled in the destruction and desecration of her home. They were coming for them, hungering for the kill, and slavering with their bloodlust. And they were so very close if the warrior could hear them, ever over roar of the flames. Soon, they would be upon the refugees trying to make their way to the keep perched atop the island's mountain pinnacle.

"We have to keep moving." The warrior's eyes, beneath the mask, were dark and almost desolate seeming. "We cannot afford this respite, however momentary." She looked to Jack as Will and Barbossa set him down upon the ground as gently as possible. "Jack Sparrow does not have much time to waste if there is to be any hope to save him."

The blacksmith shook his head. "If he's going to make it to the well still alive, he needs to rest."

The warrior turned harshly, and whistled. A sharp, piercing blast cut through the air about them. Even the men down below, setting fire to this once proud and beautiful land, drew silent. Will and Barbossa both had to cover their ears even. The warrior had completely given away their position.

"UP THERE!" Someone shouted. The men were close, and they had most certainly heard Sygne's whistle. "SOMEONE'S THERE!"

"Sygne," Barbossa growled under his breath as he drew his cutlass. "I most certainly hope ye had a plan in doin' that." He looked to her harshly as he and Will attempted to haul Jack back to his feet. "'Cause they're goin' t' be on us any minute now."

Sygne rushed to them, dropped her golden weaponry before them, and scooped Jack from under Will's arm, taking up his weight with a grunt as her muscles strained to hold the muscular pirate's dead weight. "Do you trust me?"

"I do not know for certain," Will admitted bluntly.

Sygne gave Jack a slight lift of her shoulder to bring his limply hanging head to level with Will. "Is he not your friend? Is it not your friend who draws his last breaths? And is it not I who holds the key to his survival?"

Will paused for a moment before swallowing and giving a small nod. "I trust you, Sygne, entirely."

"I thought as much," the warrior sounded as though she was giving a bittersweet smile beneath her golden mask. "Take my things and protect yourself as best as you can. I shall return onto you as soon as I can to help." She adjusted herself and the way Jack slumped over her to better carry his weight. "Only I can help Jack now, and it must be soon."

Will gingerly reached down and took up her spear. "I know."

"Jack Sparrow's soul is leaving this world and slipping to Hel's dominion. I can bring him back, and possibly return with aid from the other world," Sygne promised. "I will bring back with me whatever I can to stop Beckett, but he must be kept from reaching the well."

Barbossa took some steps downhill, leaning his back against a thick tree and listening. The captain looked to the blacksmith and the warrior, as sweat dripped down his face. He shook his head. Beckett's men couldn't have been more than 150 meters away from them, just downhill. True, they had the upper hand when it came to ground, but they were severely outnumbered and out gunned.

"Whatever ye're goin' to do Sygne, make it fast, 'en."

The underbrush stirred beside them, but Sygne paid it no fear. Instead, the warrior just strode up to it as a bloodied, ebony horse stepped from the shadows. It had to be the last one left of its kind. A sad and sorry sight, But Sygne was more than happy to see it. She lugged Jack to the creature, and Will helped her to load him aboard the back of the stallion before the blacksmith gave her a leg up.

"Be careful, Sygne," Will whispered.

The warrior nodded, clucking loudly in the stallion's ears and kicking his sides. The man just stood in shock as he watched as Sygne and Jack raced away. It was hopeless. Norrington had failed them. Barbossa had failed them. And, now, Will felt as though he had failed. And Elizabeth was possibly already dead. All Will had wanted was to save his fiance's life.

He looked to the ground, to where Sygne had left a bow and two quivers stocked full of arrows. The blacksmith had never really trained as aggressively with that particular weapon as he suddenly wished he had. After spending so many hours training with the swords, every day, day after day, for years, Will was more than capable with the blade. But, if he could, he would pick off the men approaching as best he could.

"THEY SPLIT UP!"

Will cursed to himself as he drew back the bow. He could see the shadows now, silhouettes of men moving through the burning jungle. The flames were close enough now that Will felt the heat just roll off of them and uphill along with sparks and smoke carried on the breeze. Out of the corner of his eye, Will could see Barbossa, holding his cutlass up and readying to strike as soon as the men were upon them. Will held his breath, drawing it in sharply.

But, before they drew near enough for Will to let loose the first bolt, that voice cracked in the night, like a whip in the air. "ALL AT THE READY!" Beckett's voice, cutting through the death of this island. "Report."

"Tracks! Heading uphill!" someone else called. "Very fresh..."

Will swallowed hard, steeling himself as Beckett spoke again, barking out his orders harshly. "SPLIT AIM AND OPEN FIRE! I WANT EVERYONE ON THIS ROCK DEAD AS A DOORNAIL! CUT DOWN ANYTHING AND ANYONE!"

xxxx

The girls screamed.

"Shh, shh," Elizabeth pressed her finger to her lips and smiled motherly, trying to calm the girls around her. "It's alright."

But, secretly, in their heart of hearts, Elizabeth, Anne Bonney, and Calico Jack all knew it wasn't alright. There were gunshots in the jungle, getting closer and closer to the keep, suddenly erupting in a sudden flurry. They knew they were done for. William Kidd and Black Bart were no where to be seen. The _Revenge_ lay at the bottom of the ocean, and no one knew what at all had happened to William Turner, Barbossa, _El Cazador_, and the heart of Davy Jones.

Up above, as Elizabeth glanced to the great, round lip of the chasm, she could see the stars in the heavens. But, more than that. Thick clouds of smoke crossed overhead, threatening to blot out the stars and the moon its self over them. That great, massive plume carried with it faint, glowing, orange sparks. Flakes of black ash rained down from the sky and the smoke, down and into the pit of the well of souls. Already the ash clung to the silvery white hair of the girls around her and formed a thing sprinkling over the smoothly polished rock at the base of the well. The island was dying around them, all at once, and all seemed to know it.

The girls huddled closer to Elizabeth, and the woman just outstretched her arms, welcoming them. "Where did we last leave off? Ah, yes, Will had just been tricked into the crew of Davy Jones's _Flying Dutchman_. But he was going to be just fine..."

But, secretly, Elizabeth knew nothing would be just fine. Nothing at all.

xxxx

Rifle retort cracked in the wilderness of the island, snapping and popping on the heels of the stallion as it tried its hardest to run uphill. But this creature was in sad shape, far sadder than the last mount Sygne had gotten herself. This one was absolutely dying with each passing stride. It's breaths, it's heartbeats, everything. The uphill climb was killing it.

Sygne glanced over her shoulder. Men were moving fast through the jungle now. She hadn't realized just how far down the mountain they'd been when the intruders had arrived. Nor had the warrior realized just how far up the hill Beckett's men had managed to get. They were flanked around her to the right, forming a line up the mountain and into the jungle. The fires had already reached the bottom border of the keep's grounds, licking at the white alabaster ahead of them. And there were shouts all off to her right in the jungle.

Her land was coming to an end as the glory of this isle of the Caribbean diminished just as Hel, her lady and her goddess had already dwindled to nothingness. But there was hope, so long as Jack Sparrow did not die. Jack's soul was on the verge of death, and, soon, Hel had to come to the well to claim him. Sygne could reclaim Jack and possibly bring something back from Hel to help them. There was the slimmest of chances. Just the slimmest.

She clucked again the to stallion, feeling her heart sink with each dying stride. The gunshots turned to them now, and Sygne felt the terrible, hard jerk of the steed as a ball of searing hot metal slammed into his hind leg. The great creature, however, snorted in rage and fear, but pressed on, driven by adrenalin, pushing on. Sygne kicked harder and harder, digging her heels into his sides.

Jack slumped forward suddenly. He was dying, faster and faster. Sygne saw his light fading around him, dimming. Jack Sparrow, best pirate in the Caribbean, drew his last, rasping breaths.

Sygne leaned close. "You cannot die, Jack Sparrow. Not yet. You cannot."

But the warrior knew Jack couldn't hear her anymore. She could only hope, in her wildest of dreams, that he would continue to linger on that doorway to the next world for long enough for them to get to well in time.

Right as Sygne felt her heart rise even slightly, everything came down. Another well placed shot from well trained troops took the legs right out from under the stallion beneath them. The bullet hit hard at the horse's head, sending up a crimson splash of blood, falling in a warm spray upon the riders. Sygne had just enough time as the stallion fell to the ground to tighten her grip around Jack's waist. The ebony creature crashed to the ground, spiking Sygne and her charge into the air, and right into a thicket of overgrowth with a terrible thud.

Sygne came up, ready for a fight, but she'd left all of her weapons with Will and Barbossa. She had no choice but to take up Jack's weight and start to run, as fast as her burdened body could. Up to the very top of the hill.

They were so very close now, but it felt so far away.

xxxx

Beckett smiled to himself, grinning from ear to ear. He had them now, and this entire island. The man squeezed the heart tightly in his longer fingers, crushing it ever so slightly, but not too much to destroy it. The heart strained, trying to beat normally despite the pressure.

"Jack Sparrow."

He'd been at the head of the landing party, striking ahead to find the god of this land and kill it. Beckett had been feeling all too lucky, especially after one carefully aimed shot of his took out one of the massive horses as it charged uphill. A part of Beckett had mildly regretted killing such an extravagant and gorgeous creature, but it was suffering and dying. The warhorse just didn't know it yet, hadn't let the thought sink in. Or, perhaps it had, and, in one last act of loyalty, had pushed beyond death in one last mission for its master. Either way, it mattered not. Beckett had come for something far more important than mere horses. He'd come for the power of life and death, the power to bring back whoever he felt like, and to crush whoever vexed him.

However, that didn't mean that Cutler Beckett didn't have a few moments to spare to take revenge on Captain Jack Sparrow. The pirate had plagued him for too long and cheated death far too many times. It was Beckett's time, his moment to shine and finally send Jack Sparrow to the devil he'd bested too many times.

But, first, he'd follow Jack and that crazed animal of a woman to the god he'd come to kill. The nobleman licked his lips, suddenly dry and salty. He watched the warrior half carry, and half drag the pirate uphill, as they crossed the sights to his pistol. Soon. So very soon. Beckett would have everything. Sparrow. The heart. The kraken. And, above all, rule of the Caribbean beyond any contestation.

Beckett smirked. "Checkmate."

xxxx

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. It took the inspiration to spark again some time to hit me. Hope you enjoy if you're still reading!


	46. Cornered Animals

RED SKY

Davy Jones couldn't set foot on land, but this island wasn't just any land. Hel had been quite careful in the wording of all her contracts, for any man or woman indentured to her service. Any god or goddess, with so many years, so many untold centuries, had time enough to practice and hand craft their arts, their magicks. Hell, even Tia Dalma, his Tia Dalma, his elusive lady and love, had proven that, granted enough time and perseverance, any determined person can learn the secrets of the universe, or all language, science, and time.

Hel had been quite specific in Davy Jones's contract in order to bind him to her service. The pirate could set foot only on her island, her rock, her own, private place in the vast waters, to ensure he could deliver the souls of the men he'd collected, ferrying them onto Death herself. However, as punishment for defiling his Tia Dalma, or, really, _her _Tia Dalma, Hel's contract specifically bound that her daughter, unclean and adulterated, could _never _return to her island. In those aspects, Hel had been quite clear and concise, hoping to ensure that Davy Jones would be her lap dog as punishment for his crimes against his one love, and keeping him in line with that once a decade chance to again attempt to gain her forgiveness and her affections.

However, Tia Dalma, as treacherous and as deadly as the seas, could never be tamed by Davy Jones. He had gone to her, to her little spot in the bayou every night the first hundred years, keeping careful to stay in the waters, calling to her from the swamp with the crickets, snakes, rats, and alligators, like the vermin he was. After that, he returned only when he could walk on land. Every ten years, unfailingly, the captain had returned to her, to her shack upriver, in some faint hope of reclaiming his lost love. It drove him mad to keep returning to beg for Tia Dalma to love him again, to return to him and somehow find a way to break Hel's hold of them. But Davy Jones had thrown all that away by taking her so harshly and against both her will and her goddess. Tia Dalma, a spoiled priestess, would never forget the glory and the family he'd torn her from, she would never give up her dreams and nightmares of the divinity Davy Jones had ripped away from her.

Hel had been quite cautious and clear indeed. She was a goddess of death, after all, and some part of her knew every person intimately. Hel had been there somehow for the birth of every thing and the death, as well. Hel knew everything about the souls she collected. She had known exactly how to drive Davy Jones to keep to her service, drive mad by his lust and love of Tia Dalma.

However, no god could account for the madness of an immortal.

They were calling it now, his great beast, his pet monster and demon on demand. Davy Jones could hear it now, feel it. He knew Hel's power over him, and knew just what the goddess had cost him over all those years. He would not, could not allow these sons of whores who called themselves pirates or sailors to take his last chance to be with Tia Dalma. Equally, hew could never risk Hel taking him. And, so, he had to call to the kraken, to the monster of his own. As the tentacles surfaced here and there, raising against the _Herald Mark_ as well as the circling pirate ships, _El Cazador, Antigua_, and the _Royal Fortune _all came for them, the undead captain drove for land.

Davy Jones looked to his crew as the shore came close, close enough to leap from the _Flying Dutchman_ almost right onto the sand. "ALL HANDS ASHORE!"

It was time to reclaim his heart.

xxxx

Another explosion rocked the great stone keep. Elizabeth covered the ears of the girls nearest to her, as if she herself could protect them from whatever was coming to them. She breathed slowly, deeply, as dust settled all about them.

One of the girls looked to the woman. "Is this the end?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm not sure."

xxxx

Barbossa and Turner took short order in grabbing what they felt would be best from the tools Sygne had left them, from all her many weapons. But, against so many, and with the cannon fire still coming from the _Herald Mark_, how could they have ever hoped to survive to see the morning. They drew forth blades, slashing, whirling and turning in unison. They moved with a sharp drive, the knowing that this moment, these last few minutes, were of the utmost importance.

But there was just so many of them, and just two of them. Turner slashed through the air with one of Sygne's golden spears. They were so heavy, almost clumsy and cumbersome compared to a good cutlass. The two of them had been fighting for so long now, cutting down however dared draw near enough to kill, and ducking behind trees to avoid gunfire.

As another volley of shots came uphill from the party below, Will grabbed Barbosa by his jacket, hauling the two of them behind a tree. The wood exploded in splinters as the shots just barely missed them.

Barbosa grinned from ear to ear. "Are we havin' fun, yet, Mr. Turner?"

Will glanced over his shoulder to Beckett's advancing men. "There's too many of them."

He took a quick glance downhill, to the bay. Will's jaw almost dropped right out of his head when he saw what was happening down there. The _Flying Dutchman_ had been abandoned by her crew in haste, run aground purposely by her captain. And, much to both his and Barbosa's shock, the crew surfaced just beyond the calm surf, including none other than Davy Jones himself. The undead captain crossed onto the beach in a huff, waving to his men to join him before shaking the water from off of his tentacled head. The entire massive, monstrous crew of the _Dutchman_, Bootstrap Bill included, had gone ashore, coming for them and for the cursed heart.

"Aye." The captain nodded his head towards the white alabaster of the keep above, barely visible through the jungle and smoke of the fires below. "If we can get up there, get them narrowed down to where they have t' fight hand t' hand, we could stand a fightin' chance."

The blacksmith nodded. "C'mon."

xxxx

The island had changed, but not in any natural way. When the island had been young, and Davy Jones had been but a foolish upstart against their law, it had been different, far different than the place Davy Jones saw now. It had once been lush and beautiful, filled with the sound of laughing children, as the young priestesses would play and frolic amid the flowers of her gardens, dancing their way about Hel's island. Towering marble statues had once stood on the shore line, welcoming souls to her endless embrace.

However, Hel had changed by her contract with Davy Jones, just as he had changed. The power he had sapped from her to maintain his own bonds had weakened the goddess. Her gleaming, white statues had crumbled and been beaten to dust. Her hold on the local flora and fauna gave way to the chaos of the jungle. And, now, as if to add insult to injury, the flames of the fire were tearing the last remnants of her magic away, stripping the island of all life.

It seemed a frightful sin.

Davy Jones howled in rage. His heart had been taken, putting any hope of saving either himself or his Tia Dalma at great risk. And, now, to make it worse, they were waging war on the one being possibly more powerful than he in those waters. These ignorant and downright arrogant interlopers were going to murder her, Hel, the one thing keeping him and his Tia Dalma alive.

He turned to Maccus and his men as they followed behind him, still dripping from the waters. "KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM!" Davy Jones wrung his fists. "Leave no soul unscathed by my wrath."

xxxx

Jack Sparrow felt so heavy beside Sygne as she half-carried half-dragged him up the hill towards the keep. The warrior was strong, had always been strong. In fact, Sygne had always been quite used to her strength, almost taking it for granted. But not anymore. The pirate weighed far more than she had anticipated, much more, not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him. Every last pound of his dead weight dragged her down, held her back and turned each step of Sygne's into pure agony.

Sygne turned, glancing over her shoulder to the land, rolling down that steep, almost impossible incline. Nothing could be seen below from where she stood now, in a small gully carved by hundreds of years of rain flow. The winds of the Caribbean were pushing, billowing the smoke of those fires uphill, straight towards her. Thick, choking, acrid black smoke covered everything below her. Stray embers kicked up on the breeze, glittering red like tiny fairies as they flew.

As she turned, her chest suddenly flashed a white hot pain, causing her to actually just drop Jack onto the ground unceremoniously. Sygne fell to her knees, holding her side. Her rib, the one she'd cracked when the horse came down under her and Elizabeth Swann during that terribly daring jump, had come back to haunt her. Sygne took a moment to steady her breathing and get control of herself, pausing only to jerk on the leather ties to her corset-like armor, tightening it around her until she could hardly breathe. It took a moment for the quakes of pain to subside to a _relatively _dull ache again at her side, something the warrior would just have to grit her teeth and bear.

Jack stirred beside her, lashing out and grabbing her wrist sharply, stammering weakly, "What... where are we?"

"Perhaps a hundred feet shy of the summit," Sygne grunted in reply.

The pirate forced himself over and onto his back, gazing up at the heavens above him but seeing nothing but black void before whispering in a cracked voice, "We're not goin' t' make it, are we luv?"

"We must," the warrior growled, trying to tie off the leather corset tighter still.

"But the heart... 's so close..."

A noise in the underbrush below caught her attention, something like footsteps over dried leaves. Sygne lunged at him, putting her fingers to his lips. She was so close, so very close to him. Jack smelt the warm, mellow scents of old animal hide, salt, and a slight musk. Sygne bore a unique scent, soft and sweet, yet strange and unladylike, purely her. She had drawn so close so abruptly, that the pirate heard her heart beat, slow and steady, in her chest, the heart of a warrior and a soldier. The fur from about her mask tickled his nose.

Her voice dropped to but a husky breath. "Someone draws near."

"Pistol?" Jack croaked under her fingertips.

Sygne shook her head. "We have no weapons. I left behind them to move faster with you."

The pirate nodded slowly, obviously aching with each movement. "Then why..." Jack trailed off for a moment, swallowing hard. "'ave we stopped?"

Sygne nodded, dragging the man from off the ground and back onto her shoulder. He gave a soft groan under her breath. The warrior felt pity for him, and an unusual sympathy, but there was no time for soft emotions. They were being hunted.

Their hunter was close.

xxxx

A terrible, awful cracking sound caught Will's ears as they bolted up the boggy, muddy hill. As he turned to look downhill, even Beckett's men were running with them. They had stopped firing upon Barbosa and his first mate, a bad sign indeed. When Will saw why, he just froze in place.

The kraken had been raised from the depths, rallied by its master's beckon call. Long, vicious tentacles had reached up from the waters and dragged the _Herald Mark _under the waves. The keel and the hull had splintered under the crushing weight of the mighty beast, sending up stray timbers and beams like twigs, like nothing. The crew men, what little remained after Beckett sent them to the island, what few had not been devoured by the sea monster, were swimming ashore, a few still getting snagged by the grappling suction of the kraken's many arms.

But, that wasn't the worst thing.

Somehow, damn them, the crew of the _Flying Dutchman _had caught up with them, cutting down any man left behind. And, at their head, was Davy Jones. He seemed fit to be tied. His octopus like tentacles wriggled and squirmed in an angry, enraged mass, like deadly vipers. The undead captain's cutlass was drawn and bloodied, having slain so many men on his own climb to the island's keep.

Davy Jones fixed his eyes squarely upon Will. "You."

The blacksmith steeled himself, thinking of Sygne and her fallen kin. They had given their everything, their very lives to wrest the heart and return the power to their goddess, their mistress. He felt their strength, their honor and glory within him, coursing through his veins, resigning himself to this one moment. Turner had promised his father freedom from Davy Jones, and he meant to keep his word, just as each of the warriors had given their own word to their goddess.

"Davy Jones!" Will cried back aggressively, bitterly.

The undead captain smirked to himself, gesturing for his men to continue on with just a mere swish of his cutlass. "We meet again, Mr. Turner. How convenient."

Will held up his cutlass before leaping into action, letting gravity carry him downhill towards his quarry. Davy Jones grinned madly from ear to ear, charging just as equally uphill towards the blacksmith. Will struck first, part out of instinct and part trying to take advantage of the high ground. Davy Jones reacted fast, though, blocking the blacksmith's blow. They circled one another, striking and lunging, but delivering nothing but nicks upon each other's blades.

The crew of the _Flying Dutchman _swirled about them, even Bootstrap Bill among them. Will hurt at the sight of his father, forced to fight among them. They drew near, near enough to trip Will in a foolish move. The blacksmith tucked up, throwing his body into a roll and circling back around Davy Jones to swing hard at the captain. Davy Jones brought up his massive claw, knocking the blacksmith's blade back and countering with ease. Will hadn't expected the Davy Jones to even really be too good of a swordsman with those tentacles for a hand, let alone be so skillful with using that claw as almost a second sword. Nor had Will really been expected the crew to stray as far back as they did, to allow their captain to fight freely.

Davy Jones, however, seemed displeased at that, barking out, "On the move, gents! Don't let them get the heart!"

At first, the crew ran, all but one. Bootstrap Bill. He stood there, lingering even as his son fought with his captain. His face seemed fraught with concern for his son but indecision. He waited for a moment before taking his own move, jumping for Jones, for his own captain.

"No!" Will cried out, stepping lightly between his father and the undead captain, still hacking through the air with his sword. "Jones is mine!"

Davy Jones took the momentary distraction to act, reaching out and snatching Will's right fore arm in his claw, squeezing hard. The sharp, jagged edge slit through the blacksmith's shirt, cutting harshly. Jones smiled madly as he clenched down, holding tight to Will's arm.

"Bootstrap, if ye know anything 'ats good for ye, ye'll get the bloody heart!" Jones snarled savagely.

Will looked to his father, nodding even as he tossed the cutlass to his other arm and cut down, slashing into Davy Jones's arm. The monstrous man dropped Will to the ground, who came up fighting. The younger man swung with his cutlass for all it was worth, hoping to just chop off the beast's head, but Jones just brought up his cutlass, blocking the blow. The captain shoved back, hard, in an attempt to through Will off his balance. However, the younger man had been expecting it, riding out the force and spinning around, cutting through the air at the undead captain. The blacksmith's cutlass sliced through the air, catching on one of Jones's tentacles and lopping it clean off.

Yet, Davy Jones had allowed it, feeling no pain from the chop. He had flared his octopus-like appendages, concealing the actions of his great claw. The unnatural mutation closed with a mighty crack, snapping Will's blade in two. The business end fell with a clatter a few feet away. Jones swung with his massive claw again, swatting Will aside like nothing. The young man landed in the undergrowth in a crumpled heap.

"Will!" His father called, still standing there dumbfounded.

His son looked up, completely sure of himself. "Just go! Get the heart!"

xxxx


	47. Desperate Measures

RED SKY

William Kidd had never been a lucky man. Not by any stretch of the imagination could Kidd have even been considered a lucky man. The pirate captain had nearly lost two crews and his own ship to various troubles. He was, however, one of the greatest pirates to ever live, or, at least, one of the most notorious, right up there with Jack Sparrow.

However, when the kraken had taken down the _Herald Mark_, along with any man aboard, William Kidd couldn't help but think himself lucky. The great beast hadn't turned on his own vessel, the _Antigua_. It had made short order of the brigantine, without any further adieu. The great monster reached up, snatching up the men and hauling them under, kicking and screaming. He shuddered upon still hearing their shrieks of horror and agony beneath the water. Still, it had been a stroke of pure luck that the demon of the deep hadn't gone after any of their ships.

Still, it didn't surprise William Kidd in the slightest when the _Antigua _came to a crashing, jarring halt. The kraken had turned its attention to the pirate captain's seemingly cursed vessel. The wood beneath groaned and buckled as a gaping maw latched upon the hull, holding tight. The timbers popped strangely as teeth sunk into the weathered grain of the vessel.

Kidd shivered but smirked to himself. "Today was a good day to die."

xxxx

"Perfect."

Beckett mouthed the word to himself. He'd been trailing the woman in her ebony hides as she hauled Jack Sparrow up to the summit. It was a sad, whole-ly pathetic sight to be honest. She had stumbled several times, definitely injured somehow, each time dropping the damned, rotten pirate each and every time. After a time, the woman had resorted to strapping the two of them to one another, to make him easier to haul uphill and, so, they went down together. The tradesman had to bite back his own snickers each time the two fell.

But, now, the absolutely sad pair had led him all the way up the mountain to the very top. There, the land grew flat around them into a great, wide opening. The sky seemed to go on forever overhead. A million stars sparkled in the heavens above, more than Beckett had ever seen in his entire life. The moon even seemed larger, fuller, and brighter in the night over that island. Not a single cloud hung on the horizon. They seemed to be at the very top of the island. Amid all of the light of the stars, the moon, and the flashing sparks carried up on the wind from the fires below, the warrior and her beaten pirate friend were perfectly illuminated. All the light glistened off of her golden mask and all the bangles in Sparrow's many braids.

It was just too perfect, too absolutely perfect.

So much light. Beckett could see everything. This mountain, or, really hill, seemed but one peak of many. A carved, jagged line ran down from the taller peaks, obviously had been the bed of a river that had cut its way down to the lip of this cliff. However, the river had run dry, it seemed. The river bed had run through the jungle, snaking around and doubling back somewhere to Beckett's left in the trees. But, there was no water, not anymore, just gleaming damp and wet. The river bed ran right up to the edge of the cliff beside the warrior and the pirate.

He had been hiding in the underbrush still, hidden by the jungle. Thick branches covered Beckett's presence, while heavy boughs of flowers hung down from the trees above. The flowers were wilting, dying all around him in a sudden flash, even as Beckett stood there.

The woman seemed confused, turned around in her haste. Beckett licked his lips in anticipation. This beast, this chimera and untamed woman had eluded him at least once. She mocked him, that day on the beach, purely by escaping to the surf, by proving a body could slip right through the lord's grasp. Jack Sparrow was done for; he just didn't seem to have caught onto the idea. Beckett had even secured the heart of Davy Jones; the only two things left to secure his total victory was that damned woman and the god of that island.

He pulled his pistol, a gilded thing that had been hand crafted just for the nobleman when he attained his current title as head of the East India Trade Company. Cutler Beckett had spent many years training with pistols, rapiers, and various other weapons. With her just standing out there, in the open, the woman made herself a perfectly easy target, completely helpless, especially with Jack Sparrow's useless body weighing her down. After all his training and years of dedicated, almost anal-retentive study, the foolish woman didn't stand a chance. Beckett drew back on the hammer slowly, gritting his teeth as it let out an almost deafening clicking noise amid all the silence of the dying jungle.

"Sygne," Jack whispered, just barely audible, but Beckett had heard.

The warrior in her heavy, black furs, spun on her heel, but Cutler Beckett was a faster man, it seemed. Even before the woman could turn to see him, the nobleman had launched into motion. His finger squeezed the trigger to his pistol, sending off a sudden flash and a puff of smoke.

"SYGNE!" the pirate cried out.

But it was too late.

Beckett grinned from ear to ear as a spark met his eyes, where the bullet his dead on its mark, between her eyes on the golden mask. The warrior pitched back, her hand still holding Jack Sparrow's battered body up, and the two pitched right over the cliff, falling into silence right to their death.

Beckett sighed, still smiling to himself. "Such a shame to waste so much perfectly good bit of gold."

xxxx

Distraction.

It was perfect, all of it.

Norrington couldn't have planned it better himself, or so he thought. Davy Jones and his crew had completely abandoned the _Flying Dutchman. _Even the kraken had been drawn off, its attention diverted to the remaining ships in the tiny harbor. The privateer had been hoping for that, praying that the undead captain, driven desperate to regain his heart before it either fell back into Lord Cutler Beckett's hands or into the hands of the god of this land, would go ashore with all his men. Sure enough, the plan seemed to be going accordingly. The privateer took his chances swimming across to the _Dutchman_ and climbing aboard.

The ship seemed quiet as the grave; Norrington's luck had held out as he clambered up to the main deck. He turned to the island, now able to finally get a good look and survey the ruin. Flames had engulfed the lower part of the island now, sweeping up towards the keep, what little had been left to it. After he'd gone ashore with the landing party and subsequently split off from them, the great, ivory fortress had been ripped apart from below, smashing to almost nothingness by the cannonfire of the now destroyed _Herald Mark_. And, somewhere up there, somewhere above the flames, hopefully, a safe haven held Elizabeth Swann away from all the destruction.

Norrington shook his head solemnly before setting about his work, moving below decks to the gun gallery. A deep dank odor met his nose familiar but odd, but the privateer just tried not to breathe it in, picking up a lantern as he walked. Lamps hung here and there. One of those lamps, curiously, seemed held up by a man carved right out of the wood of the _Flying Dutchman_, its eyes closed and in a soft pose of rest and respite. Norrington stared at it for a moment, studying those oddly human and almost uniquely coral-like features all cobbled into the face of a man.

"Come to claim the mast?" the man asked as it suddenly came to life and breaking away from the wall at its neck to shake loose a hermit crab.

The privateer jumped almost clean out of his skin, spooked by the sudden life to the man before him, nestled in the frame of the _Dutchman_'s hull. The lantern from Norrington's hand crashed to the floor, shattered as it hit the decking and letting loose its flickering light. The _Flying Dutchman_'s decking of the gun gallery burst into flames as tongues of fire raced across the deck. He drew in a sharp gasp, but, then the privateer understood. After centuries at sea, the wood had been rotting away, leaching gases that had been ignited by the fallen lantern.

The face smiled a weary smile. "No. Come to free us."

Norrington glanced up again, his attention drawn back to the man in the wall as the fire spread even faster about them, starting to make its way to the base of the frame where the man had been encrusted with sea life. "You can leave! You just have to want to leave!"

"No," the stranger whispered.

"You can," Norrington pressed, holding out his hand over the flames for the man in the wall, this slave to Davy Jones, to take. "It is not too late."

The man laughed. "You don't understand. There has always got to be a captain." The fire had reached his feet, casting an eerie, orange reflection. "If there's no _Dutchman_, there's no captain. No captain, no crew."

The once commodore nodded, understanding. He took a step back away from him, as the man in the wall just laughed a happy, free chuckle. Liberated by the fire and what it held for him, the man in the wall tosses his own lamp down onto the ground, watching it shattered with a splash of oil across the floor, spreading the fire around him. The man hooted and whooped.

But Norrington had no time. The fire would reach the powder kegs soon, and, after that, all hell would break loose. He ran, as fast as he could, up the steps and onto the deck. Below, the man in the hull hollered and shouted something completely indecipherable to the privateer as he ran. Norrington reached the deck and dove, just as the first powder keg went off with a tremendous explosion, rocking the world about him in a thunderous boom.

And, then, Norrington hit the water.

xxxx

"SYGNE!"

Elizabeth, Anne and Jack Rackham had heard his shout deep below in the well. The three leapt to their feet as the girls, those many innocent little priestesses and worshipers of ancient divinity flocked away. They shivered, huddling together for safety. But Elizabeth and the pirates just stood there, turning around in place, staring up and searching for wherever the scream had come from.

"Jack..." Elizabeth whispered under her breath.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. The voice that had shouted from above, echoing and reverberating against the stone walls of the great chasm, belonged to none other than Jack Sparrow. They were above them somewhere, somewhere up there along the great cliffs, Jack and Sygne where up there.

Anne Bonney didn't want to say what she had to. "Sounds like trouble."

xxxx

"God almighty," Gibbs remarked, crossing himself where he stood on the deck of _El Cazador_.

The crew had been hard to work, firing off round after round at the kraken, trying to ward it off the _Antigua. _However, all those musket balls served to do nothing more than to anger it further, to torment and enrage the beast of the deep. Those massive tentacles knotted together, pulling towards the main mast. They gathered in a tight bunch, wrapping around themselves and the hull of the ship. William Kidd seemed fit to be tied, running down from the helm to chop at the tentacles along with his crew. But the _Antigua _just could not be freed from the monster.

Gibbs shook his head. Things had been going so well, it had seemed. The enemy ships were down, but the kraken and the cursed crew, as well as Beckett's lackeys, remained. And, now, the _Antigua _had been doomed. Yet, William Kidd and his star crossed crew just refused to give up.

The _Antiqua_ creaked and groaned its own death. The kraken pulled down hard, right across the mid section of the ship, dragging it down. The keel popped and snapped as the hull gave with an awful racket. William Kidd and his crew just kept at their posts, never submitting, never backing down. They worked together as a group, hacking at the same spots, chopping, like at a great, towering tree. When the kraken hauled one away, another took his place. They kept at it, even as the kraken dragged the crippled ship down low enough at the water line to flood that shattered section of deck.

A part of Gibbs had to admire their courage.

xxxx

Without a cutlass to protect him, Will Turner had nothing to defend himself with save one last dagger from Sygne's stash. It was small, perhaps no larger than four or six inches at the blade. Not much of anything at all. But it was all Will Turner had left with him. He waited there, in the underbrush, for Davy Jones to draw near before slashing through the air wildly, like an animal driven mad.

The cursed captain just danced out of the way, boisterously taunting, "Aw, c'mon, is that the best you can do, Mr. Turner?"

"No, but this is!"

Bootstrap Bill lunged from the trees, throwing himself upon Davy Jones, his own captain and slave driver. The cursed pirate struck his own captain down, tackling him and sending them both to the ground. Bootstrap slugged Jones, punching at that disfigured face. Those many snarling things grabbed at Bill's arms and wrists, but he just kept at it, striking as many blows as possibly until his knuckles were raw and red with blood, both his and Jones. And nothing, not one lick of that beating did anything to stop Jones or incapacitate him in any way.

But Davy Jones just laughed. "Not only a liar, but a pathetic fighter as well." The captain threw his attacker right off of him. "Why did I ever conscript you to my crew in the first place?"

xxxx

"God damnit."

Beckett swore under his breath as he stared down to the bay below from that high point. The _Herald Mark_ was no where to be seen, presumably destroyed. The kraken had taken hold of one of the offending pirate ships, swinging its great appendages at the crew as they fought it back, attempting to fend it off. The other two ships were circling, firing their pistols and rifles madly, trying desperately to both avoid the terrible beast while also help the ailing ship. The _Flying Dutchman _had burst into a fiery inferno, spraying the water with bits and pieces of rotted hull. He'd been hoping to claim the _Dutchman _for himself, and keep the immortal vessel as his own flagship.

"There be more at work here than just gods," a voice called from the jungle.

Beckett turned to face this interloper, seeing none other than a supposedly dead pirate step from the jungle behind him. "Hector Barbosa."

The pirate nodded, giving a slight bow of his head. "In the flesh."

"They say that you aren't among the living," Beckett spoke softly, accusingly, pointing his pistol now at the captain.

The pirate nodded. "Aye. And I would say that your pretty little pistol is in need of a reloading." He preened a bit, standing taller and prouder, exuding only an air of strength and fortitude. "People do say so many little rumors and tidbits, do ye not agree?"

Beckett drew his rapier from his side, but the momentary distraction had been more than enough. A hand latched upon the nobleman's ankle, holding tight and hard. Beckett looked down, his teeth clenched in rage, to see none other than the woman, that bitch of a warrior holding him hard with one hand, the other hand hanging on as tight as she could to the cliff. His pistol shot had knocked her mask clean off her head, but nothing more. Below her, Jack dangled, still tethered to her. The bedraggled pirate captain stared upwards, watching.

Sygne bared her teeth in a feral gesture. "How dare you do this to my home, to my people, and to my lady."

However, some part of her seemed to hesitate to do anything. There, hanging in that precarious position, anchored only by Beckett's leg and her hold on the cliff, they were done for. It was just a matter of time before they fell to their deaths to the floor of the chasm below. Sygne knew it. She just seemed reluctant to fall and bring Jack Sparrow, the man she'd come so far in some hope of saving, to his own demise as well.

"You kill me, and you kill him," Beckett snarled, playing on this sudden weakness of the woman's.

Barbosa cried out as well, "Sygne, no!"

Jack looked up to her, gazing up at those dark eyes of hers but seeing nothing. Sygne cried now, tears streaming down her cheeks at the thought of saving her home by costing a life she'd gone so far to protect. He'd lived a good, long life, extended beyond its natural limits by a pact with both Davy Jones and Hel herself. He'd bested the Devil, in his own way, and come back to try and repay the favor. And, yet, for all his attempts, Jack Sparrow himself could not escape death, it seemed, not this time. He knew what good it would do for them to die, and die then, a clean and honest death doing some good in the world.

Jack nodded. "Do it, luv." When the warrior whimpered something along the lines of 'no,' the pirate just nodded again to her, gazing out vacantly with those tired, blind eyes of his, so ready for the welcoming embrace of death. "Let go."

Sygne nodded back to him, letting the rock slip out from under her left hand, but holding tight to Beckett with her right hand. The world fell away from them, but Jack welcomed it. He closed his useless eyes, relaxing as they fell, breathing deep and listening to the wind rushing past his ears.

The last thing he knew was Elizabeth screaming from below. "No!"

xxxx

_Thump-thump._

Elizabeth's heart broke the moment she saw that dark form detach from the top of the rock walls, so many stories above them. The shadow seemed to throw itself back and away from the rock, arching out slightly as if kicking off. It had human forms here and there, but the thing seemed to large to be human, with too many arms and legs. The great mass of shadow collided hard with a rock outcropping along the side, hurtling outwards more to the center of the chasm.

_Thump-thump._

The whole world came to a crashing stop, as if revolving around that chasm, that well into the rock. Even for Elizabeth, as her breathing slowed and her heart paused to watch. Nothing could be heard, nothing but one, horrible sound.

_Thump-thump._

The heart. The heart of Davy Jones. It had been cut out and maintained by the most desperate of loves and a contract with the goddess of death herself. It had lived and gone on for such an unnaturally long time, severed from its body. Without his heart, Davy Jones had turned mad, driven by that last moment of pure affection for his lost Tia Dalma. The heart had caused so much pain and so much suffering throughout the Caribbean.

_Thump-thump._

As the shadow drew closer, it took shape, credible, real shape. It was not one body, but three bodies, locked together, holding on to one another. Her keen eyes saw ruffled black fur, like the feathers of a falling bird. She saw long, tattered sashes and braided locks of hair. A tassled overcoat fluttered in the wind.

_Thump-thump._

Elizabeth's brain finally made sense of the tangled form, but a moment too late. "JACK! SYGNE!"

_Thump-thump._

The pirate, the warrior, and the nobleman hit the water of the still pool at the base of the chasm with a great splash and terrible noise. There was no way, given the height of the fall that anything could have ever survived. But, still, Elizabeth hurled herself at the pool, slogging through the knee deep water of the entire thing. She thrashed her arms through the cool water, splashing about. But there was nothing, nothing beneath the surface.

_Thump-thump._

Elizabeth sank to her knees, shivering to herself and crying, letting her tears fall freely now. "No..."

_Thump-thump._

xxxx


	48. Dead Things

RED SKY

The kraken's great, crushing limbs outnumbered the crew of the _Antigua _horribly. They thrashed about, snatching up pirates this way and that, throwing them about. But still, the massive knot of tentacles held tight to the ship, pulling it down and ripping it in two right down the middle.. The ship gave a shudder and a jolt as the keel finally gave way to the biting, gnawing maw of the beast.

William Kidd sawed at one of the limbs, hacking away harshly. His muscles ached from the fight, from battling a mythological creature that could not be defeated by any means. But that didn't mean that William Kidd would just throw his hands up in surrender. He refused. William Kidd bowed to no man, no twist of fate, no beast. He hadn't submitted to illness, the British Navy, mutiny, the East India Trading Company, no man. The pirate captain would not give in to the even the Devil himself, not so long as he still drew breath.

The ship quaked as the kraken tore the hull apart, into two halves. The beast's great mouth came up from beneath the waters, spewing and spitting salt water in a spray. The crew were taken back by the god-awful stench of years of decaying flesh in those teeth. William Kidd, however, seemed taken aback by the sheer volume of teeth, jagged and pointing in row after row, ringing around an octopus like beak. They had probably been pearly white at one point, but each fang seemed stained by thousands and thousands of grisly meals. The mouth had to be at least twenty to thirty feet across and just jam packed with those awful teeth.

William Kidd slammed one last stroke through the limb before him, cleaving through the bone finally and severing the damned thing. The kraken screamed in rage and pain, an ear-splitting shriek that pierced the air. His crew covered their ears, but William Kidd refused to show any weakness or hesitation. The limb quivered for a moment as nerve ending died before snapping back and swatting viciously at Kidd. The pirate captain was throw off his balance, as another swinging limb grabbed him from behind. The pirate captain spun about, trying to free himself, but the suction cups, as large as dinner plates, hung tight. The tentacle curled around him and squeezed hard.

"Cap'n!" Jones cried out.

Kidd had never been more horrified to see the cabin boy running towards him, barely strong enough to hold up a sword. The captain had a soft spot for Jones, teaching him the skills of their trade. Jones had run away from home as a child, stowing away on the ship and daring to raise a hand against William Kidd when the crew almost threw him overboard as a punishment for trespassing on their vessel. However, their captain saw potential and took Jones on as a cabin boy, looking on him as a protege. Jones's trust in his captain had never faltered.

Kidd shook his head, still trying to cut at the beast that held him. "Get back!"

But, even if Jones had been able to really do anything, it wouldn't have mattered. The kraken swung its arm up, hauling Kidd into the air, kicking and fighting. And, then, down and down the tentacle plunged, right to the mouth of the beast. William Kidd could not help but think one, last coherent thought before that mouth roared, opening wide for a meal. That thought echoed in his heart and mind.

"Today is a good day to die."

xxxx

Will took his chance then, lunging, charging at Davy Jones, turning his shoulder down and running at full speed. When he slammed into the hulking, undead captain, the blacksmith felt a crack in his bones, like a creaking and snapping all at the same time. Still, he kept on driving with his charge, hurtling down now. Davy Jones was knocked off balance, and the two came crashing down, riding out gravity and inertia as they rolled downhill.

As the pair rolled, falling and sliding down the steep incline, each boulder and root seemed to rise up to strike at them, but Will Turner had come to desperate measures. He couldn't care anymore, not anymore. All that mattered was Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, his beautiful fiance and the love of his life. If Will had to give his own life to save hers, to save her through any means, he would gladly gift wrap it complete with a bow. They'd come this far, given so much. Will punched out, stabbing as they fell, and found himself rewarded with a warm splash of blood from Davy Jones.

But a little thing like a stab wound would never stop the cursed captain. He'd cut out his own heart with his own hands. How could Will have ever hoped to cut down Davy Jones with his own, mortal hands? The captain just laughed, as though Will had done nothing more than to tickle his foe. That hand of tentacles reached up, grabbing the blacksmith by his neck. Davy Jones slammed his clawed hand outward, into the earth and stopping their fall in a heartbeat.

Davy Jones sneered. "No man can best the Devil. Not Jack Sparrow, and certainly not you."

Davy Jones squeezed so hard, Will almost thought his head would pop right off his neck like a grape off the vine. The captain wanted to see his death, wanted nothing more than to see the life drain out of Will Turner's face. The whelp had been a thorn in his side for too long. It had been Will Turner who gave Jack Sparrow the opportunity to steal the key and take his heart from its place. Jack may have started this all, but that didn't mean the undead pirate wouldn't take the most sinful of delights in killing this boy.

"Ye should have just stayed on my crew. Would have saved ye all this trouble."

But Will knew he would never give in, not ever.

xxxx

"I'm coming, Jack!"

Elizabeth took a deep breath before plunging under the water. She swam in the pool, sweeping back and forth and running her hands over the stone bottom. The entire thing seemed solid as the rock around. There were no openings, no pits, no cracks or crags. Nothing. Just a flat, smoothly worn slab of stone. There were no bodies, no trinkets, nor any sign of them. The noblewoman held her breath until her lungs burnt and ached before surfacing again.

The girls had all stepped forward, approaching the edge of the pool fearful. Their eyes were round and wide. They seemed horrified and repulsed, yet attracted like magnets to the pool. Elizabeth looked to them in confusion.

"Can't anyone help me?" the woman begged. "I've got to find them. I have to find Jack. I have to save him!"

The girls shook their head; one replied. "Only our lady, and she is lost."

xxxx

Having devoured the captain of the _Antigua_ and destroyed the great ship, the kraken turned its attention now to _El Cazador. _Gibbs had watched the entire thing, still reloading, aiming, firing, and reloading again and again, still firing on the limb that had taken Kidd down to that awful mouth. But, now, the monster let loose its hold of the ruined ship, diving down under the water. As shadow passed beneath them as it took its place below.

Mr. Cotton's parrot cried out in a shrill call. "Don't eat me! Don't eat me!"

Gibbs looked about to the tired, weary faces of the crew. Without Jack, Will, Barbosa, or even Elizabeth, the entire crew seemed lost and confused amid all the anarchy of the battle. They were without a captain, and chaos reigned supreme in place of a steady leader. They were doomed before the kraken even took hold.

He nodded to himself, knowing what had to be done. "ABANDON SHIP AND MAKE FOR SHORE!"

xxxxx

_Thump-thump._

They fell together, the three of them. Captain Jack Sparrow. Sygne. And Lord Cutler Beckett. The waters about them were warm and welcoming, pulling them down, all three of them. Hands reached out, grabbing them, dragging at them. They were pulled down through the waters of the well, down to the depths. They were being hauled below to the sunless lands.

_Thump-thump._

Jack Sparrow, who could not see in life, could see then. He saw his own life flaring up around them, his foolish, wasted life. Jack Sparrow was born of Teague, as Jack Teague, son of a great pirate. But his mother gave that all up and took her own unique name, cutting himself away from his nonexistent father. She often told Jack that she and he were like birds, migrating to escape the cold death of winter for a more favorable climate. The woman did love the twittering little birds, taking up their name and disowning her own husband. They left the old world for the Caribbean, but the British Royal Navy took down their ship, mistaking it for a pirate vessel when colors were not run swiftly enough. Jack Sparrow had been the only survivor, and they apologized heartily for it, offering anything he could ever want and instead granting him only slavery to an adopted family. Jack Sparrow's childhood wasted away by circumstance and emotion.

_Thump-thump._

However, his mother had often told Jack that sparrows were special birds. They were tiny and fragile seeming, but they were among the most hardy of creatures in the world. Sparrows could be beaten back, hunted, shot, and killed, but their numbers would never dwindle.

_Thump-thump._

Jack ran away, escaping all that for the freedom of the seas, valuing that above all else. His hatred of the Navy turned him to piracy, and his childhood poverty as an orphan served only to fuel his lust for riches. Jack squandered most of his adulthood on women, rum, and money, right up until Elizabeth shackled him to the mast of the _Black Pearl_ before the kraken hauled it down. Jack Sparrow had never once given back to anything in that world that seemed dead set to destroy him by any means.

_Thump-thump._

At least, not until her. Elizabeth Swann. He'd given his own life for her and William Turner, the lovers and somehow a part of his family. The pirate cursed himself to save them, gave his blood for them. Or, was it really for the _Pearl_, to get his ship back for himself?

_Thump-thump._

Jack closed his eyes, suddenly preferring his handicap in life to this sight in death. The heart kept on beating, throbbing in his ears. The heart of Davy Jones seemed a constant reminder of his sins, his crimes that brought them to this. Had it not been for Jack Sparrow, the heart could have remained buried on the island, safe and sound. Had the pirate captain just accepted his fate and let the Devil take him as he'd promised, none of this had to happen.

_Thump-thump._

"Jack!" Elizabeth was screaming for him, but she was somewhere distant, foggy almost, far away and distant seeming.

_Thump-thump._

And, then, Jack saw his own death, again, for this third time of his, falling from the cliffs. Perhaps, if the pirate had been able to see, had known just how far up they'd been, he wouldn't have told Sygne to let go of the cliff wall. But, it had to happen. All of it had to happen in order to stop this insanity. The pirate closed his eyes, knowing that, with his death, came hers.

_Thump-thump._

There were screams all around him, screams of horror and terror. Jack opened his eyes again, seeing Sygne. She wasn't dressed in her ceremonial furs and golden mask. No. Her hair wasn't white and perfectly straight, but a dark chocolate, almost black, and in thick, waving curls. She looked sweet and fresh, with a certain color to her cheeks that Jack had never seen. Sygne had always seemed tanned and coppered under the sun. No, there, she looked pale, like fresh cream, with a flush to her cheeks. There were no tiger stripes, no tattoos or markings of the goddess, Hel. She was running, her long skirts catching between her legs.

_Thump-thump._

Sygne fell to the ground. She turned on her back, crawling her way back, away from whatever was chasing her. The woman panted, obviously terrified. Sygne cried, sobbing as she tried desperately to get away. But a dark form was upon her in a heart beat. A man. He beat her, slugging her and brutalizing her.

_Thump-thump._

Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to watch anymore, but all he saw was her suffering. He could still hear, hear the sounds of her violation. It was awful, to the point that the pirate almost wanted to vomit.

_Thump-thump._

And, then, there was silence.

It seemed a pure, primordial thing, as though this was the silence of eternity, spreading out among them in a never ending growth and flourish. Death. Jack had seen the afterlife once before, the peace, the nothingness, but he never remembered it, not one lick of it. This was a new experience to him.

And, then, the three of them came through on the other side.

xxxx

The flames had caught up with them, racing around them. Smoke swirled in the air about them, black and choking. Sparks flickered and snapped, caught up on the breeze and scattered about. Those fires engulfed the entire face of the island, almost up to what little remained of Hel's keep, of her fortress at the very pinnacle of that rock. Yet, that wasn't important now.

Will felt the world spin around him as his brain starved for oxygen under Davy Jones's crushing tentacles. His vision swam as small, black, mercurial balls danced across his eyes.

But the blacksmith would not be killed. No. He wouldn't allow it. Will reached across the ground feeling for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. At first, his desperate search yielded nothing but small twigs and leaves. Then, his long fingers caught upon something in the muck and mud. A rock. It wasn't large, perhaps only the size of an orange or small grapefruit, but it fit perfectly within Will's grasp. The blacksmith took it and held tight before slamming it harshly into Davy Jones's skull to try to throw the captain from off of him.

But, when Davy Jones landed, he started to shimmer slightly, with a strange, almost watery quality. He didn't seem to notice, not until he saw the look on Will's face. The younger man must have had a look of pure shock and confusion.

"What did ye do?" The undead captain demanded.

"Will!" Bootstrap Bill called from above.

But, as Will looked up, even he seemed to have an odd look about his entire body; the blacksmith furrowed his eyebrows. "Father?"

Davy Jones growled like a great, feral cat, leaping at the younger Turner. Will raised his arms to fight, to wrestle again on the ground when they fell, but it never came to that. The undead captain passed right through him, washing over him like nothing more than a bad dream. Will turned on his heel to see the cursed captain just standing there, staring at his hands as they faded. The young man's vision jumped back and forth between his father and the captain, but they had both become gossamer and see through, just a faint haze on the land.

Bootstrap Bill's face softened, but Jones bellowed. "What's happened?"

"Don't ye see, Cap'n?" Bill replied, shrugging his shoulders as the corals, barnacles and starfish just dropped from his body and his face, leaving him human again. "They did it."

Davy Jones shook his head, shaking off those long tentacles and that grisly visage of his, revealing a tall man with a great, bushy beard, a human face that hadn't been seen in some centuries. "No. They couldn't have."

But the two were still fading away to nothingness, almost gone now. "They did."

"Father..." Will breathed, suddenly afraid.

Bill turned and said something, smiling softly and serenely. However, it was just too late. They were gone, faded away. Davy Jones seemed to still be fit to be tied still, shouting and screaming in an unheard commotion. Yet Bill, in those last few seconds, seemed utterly calm and at peace with whatever had just happened.

Will shook his head. "They did it. Somehow... they got the heart."

xxxx

The world dawned about them, pure and beautiful. They were kneeling, somehow, on a calm lagoon, as corals flared to life beneath them. Great plates and stag horns in vibrant colors spread swiftly, as the reef grew and fish darted between the new corals. It was all too perfect, all too serene, a utopia of sorts. The sun shone down brighter than it ever had in Jack's life. The shore just beyond looked more verdant and lush than any other island, even more-so than Hel's island. It seemed a paradise on earth, and, yet, the pirate felt he'd been there before, almost as a home or something he couldn't place. And, there, they knelt.

Jack Sparrow. Pirate captain of the _Black Pearl_.

Sygne. Warrior for the goddess Hel.

And Lord Cutler Beckett, head of the East India Trading Company and would-be ruler of the Caribbean in general.

And, then, there was Hel. She stood there, before them, in her flowing white robes, looking more and more angelic by the moment. Light of the sun cascaded down upon her. The goddess's body seemed to radiate its own pure, inner light, as though a divine light from within. She smiled upon them.

"Count carefully the souls and see that none are lost," Hel spoke softly yet with authority, almost maternally. "That has been my task, and will always be my task."

Sygne bowed her head low but said not a word. When Jack looked to her, the warrior's face said it all. It spoke of untold sorrow at the death of her kin. Her eyes held the whispers of defeat and loss, the failure of her charge. Sygne had failed her goddess, bringing death to the island around them. The warrior could not bring herself to look to her lady, even as Hel leaned close to kiss her gently, maternally upon the forehead. Sygne stilled, as if finding a deep peace, and faded away, flickering out of existence.

"What is this?" Beckett demanded bitterly.

Hel stepped before him, her eyes looking right through him, right down to the soul. "You are not one of my charges. But I do think I have a place for you."

Beckett faded away, screaming and yelling the entire time, but even that was gone in but a moment. Hel had claimed his soul and his afterlife, drawing him into her embrace and into the sunless lands, from which there is no return. Lord Cutler Beckett was gone and away, but the heart remained. It floated there, still beating, still alive and as fresh as the day it last lingered in the chest of Davy Jones.

Hel took the heart up in her pale hands, turning her attention to Jack Sparrow. Orange bands flickered to life on him, on any place not marked by his own tattoos. They glowed, like hot brands without any heat or pain, before settling into ebony tiger stripes. They were the stripes of the warriors for Hel, the markings of her kin.

"This heart, has been a contradiction for so long, Jack Sparrow. My task has always been to claim and shepherd the souls of the dead to their rightful end. I created this-" Hel held up the lump of still beating flesh, as a repulsed grimace flashed through her features before receding and leaving but peace and tranquility there on her face "-abomination, in some hopes of a ferryman, an extension of myself and my task. Yet Davy Jones corrupted the gift of immortality by his fears and humanity, while your humanity brought this to an end."

Jack looked down, remorsefully, dwelling on the thought of Sygne. "I failed ye. It was by luck and Sygne alone that the heart got her. She brought me, dragged me sorry carcass most of t' way."

Hel nodded slowly. "Yes, but the journey is not about victory always. You gave your life, telling her to let go, when she could not. You gave your ship, your crew, your sight, and your life." The goddess held the heart out, studying it for a moment. "I could restore your life if you wanted, as compensation for this great deed of yours, but I can never return to that world."

Sparrow looked down. "I'd be much obliged, but I d'nay think I could accept."

"Why?" The goddess inquired softly. "Because of your lust for revenge against Elizabeth Swann?"

"S'not that. Don't get me wrong. Miss Swann an' I have a score to settle." The pirate shook his head. "Wouldn't feel right. Me being alive an' Sygne bein' dead." Jack sighed. "It'd feel a right sin to go back if ye couldn't restore everything and set all the wrongs right."

"I'm afraid I do not have enough energy left within me to restore everything."

Jack closed his eyes. "Then, do what ye will with me."

He felt her lips upon his forehead, an oddly familiar sensation. Jack Sparrow had known Hel before, much as any other person did. She was his mother. She was his sister. She was his friend. Hel had walked beside him his whole life, from the moment he was born, waiting for him, to all the times he'd died, waiting for him again. Hel had been there for all men.

And, then, the heart stopped, along with the world.

xxxx

The kraken melted away to nothingness, returning to the dark and dangerous dreams of a man gone mad and leaving only the carnage in its wake. Gibbs and the former crews of both _El Cazador _and the _Anitgua _stood on the pure, snowy white sand of Hel's island, watching in awe. The sloop, no longer held and weighted by the mighty beast, bopped up in the water light as a cork.

The pirates, what little remained, whooped and hollered, dancing about the beach. And why not? The beast was dead it seemed. But Gibbs had seen victory turn to disaster too quickly.

A head bobbed up in the water, splashing as it surfaced. Gibbs put his hand to his eyes, trying to see who it was. And, in a strange change of luck for them, he spied none other than William Kidd, kicking his way ashore. So startled, so shocked, was Gibbs, that the mate just stood there in awe as his fellow pirate swam ashore and threw himself on the sand.

Gibbs finally stumbled towards him, asking, "So, what happened to ye?"

"Eaten," Kidd replied, still panting.

Gibbs looked out to the still waters to the ruined _Antigua_, _Herald Mark_, and _El Cazador_. "Did ye kill it, 'en?" His eyes frantically scanned the horizon and the waters about the island. "Is it gone... fer real?"

William Kidd laughed, shaking his head. "I have no idea."

xxxx

**A/N: **I really have no excuses for a year to two year wait for more _Red Sky_. I got all distracted by life, the universe and everything and forgot to finish a few of my favorite stories, never realizing how much of a limbo I left the characters I'd come to love in until I started to rewrite _Lucky Thirteen_ and all the associated stories with it. I suddenly felt bad for the characters. At least _Lucky Thirteen_ had been left in a lull where all the characters were safe and relatively unscathed. When I reread _Red Sky_ recently, I felt like I was sitting at the cliffhanger, too, with chapters just sitting on my hard drive.

So, for you few who might still be reading, may I present this chapter and the three preceding it with the hopes that I might eventually finish _Red Sky_

But, oh, what about Lizzy, Jack, Will, Sygne, and Barbosa? What does it all mean? Is it really and truly all over?

You'll have to sit tight and wait.


End file.
